Lover of the Light
by xXBeckyFoo
Summary: She always knew who she was and never tried to be anything but, that was the beauty of her. But then two people show up at her doorstep and she finds that all that she was didn't really exist. Hermione Granger was a complete lie. With secrets of a daunting past revealed, she's thrown into a world that never wanted her. And even into the arms of a boy that always hated her.
1. Prologue

**Attention: Hello, my lovely readers. This story used to be known as "Heaven's on Fire" that I started writing years back but eventually let it go. After several messages of people asking me to pick it up again, I decided that I did want to finish it to say that I did and that I pleased you guys. But since this story was originally one that I started when I first began writing, it was complete shit.  
**

**I've revamped it now, got my plot settled, and where I want to take it. So without further ado, I give you the beginning of the old story. I hope you all like it. (:  
**

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**Lover of the Light**

**Prologue**

"_I have done wrong so build your tower, but call me home."_

From outside of her open window the night was missing the moon. The sky was a blanket of black with the tiniest hue of deep purple. Both colors mixed together from light to dark, like a perfect blend until it faded to a murky grey somewhere over the horizon; disappearing through the shadow-like figures of many trees. And though there was no moon to give that silver light of guidance to those that walked the night, the stars invaded the sky like it was their time to shine. They twinkled, twinkled, twinkled without a care of being upstaged by the moon and its full magnitude.

Not even the wind blew to indicate the possible mischief of a storm or the smell of drizzle. Alas, it was a simple, ordinary night.

"...But of course she doesn't want me to leave. I reckon she thinks I'm going to take her baby boy with me."

Holding on to her silver cell-phone with her shoulder and cheek, Hermione stopped folding her pair of favorite jeans to roll her eyes and sigh. "Well of course she doesn't want you to leave, Harry. It's been three months since the final battle, everyone is still exhausted. Besides, what are you going to do all by yourself at Grimmauld Place? I agree with her."

On the other end of the phone her best friend snorted. "I've dealt with exhaustion for years, Hermione. These past three months of sleeping late and getting breakfast in bed has done wonders to my health and energy. She doesn't need to worry. Besides, I don't have to be alone. You can come and live with me, with Ron too, of course."

A little smile tugged on Hermione's lips. "Why do you really want to leave the Burrow, Harry? You've been there since the war ended. What's making you leave now? I think you'll just hurt Mrs. Weasley's feelings if you take off so fast. You know she wants you to see it as home." Though she felt extremely content at the prospect of actually living with her two best friends, at the idea of peace and a normal life, she needed to ask the question left hanging in the air. She wasn't Hermione Granger if she didn't know what was going on in Harry Potter's head, was she? Not even his mind could hide from hers.

There was a long pause on the other end of the phone. Hermione didn't stop organizing and folding her clothes while it lasted; she knew he was thinking over her question and was trying to come up with the perfect answer. Something that was the truth but didn't give away too much of what he was actually feeling.

She bent slightly at the knees, her shoulder and right cheek still keeping the phone to her ear, and she stacked various jumpers over one another. She did a quick nonverbal, making her clothes shrink in size so she'd have more room to fit her other belongings into her trunk.

Once she turned back towards her computer desk to pick up her case of quills and ink pots, she heard a throaty sigh on the other line. "I think I need to be alone now," Harry said in a murmur.

"If you need to be alone why do you want Ron and I to live with you?"

Another pause. She placed her school utensils in the trunk then went back to her mattress, which was scattered with more clothes, books, and other trinkets. "It's different."

"No, it's not Harry," and so she spoke with her Hermione-ish tone. "You want to desperately leave because you feel like you're intruding. You want to leave because you can't handle the guilt of Fred missing, despite the fact that you had _nothing _to do with that. You want to leave because you can't even look the girl you love in the eyes without feeling like you've messed up her life." It was her turn to pause as a few rolled-up socks and stockings fell to the ground and she picked them up. "Well you know what, Harry James Potter? You're being a silly little boy. Grow up."

There was static noises on the other end of the phone-line and Hermione knew perfectly well that they were caused by mumbled curses that Harry was letting out. He never really did have it in him to insult her face to face, and not even via phone. She knew that she'd hit the truth over the head with her thickest book. He really couldn't hide anything from her.

"...It hurts, Hermione," he finally muttered after he let out his string of insults. "They all act like nothing's happened, but Mrs. Weasley still calls out for _Fred _and George when supper is ready. They need to heal and I can't be in the middle of that."

Remembering quickly about books, Hermione went back to her trunk to make sure she'd stored her _Hogwarts: A History_ among her personal effects. "You're their family, Harry. And that entire family needs to heal—as do you. You need them to get over your absurd guilt." She sighed, standing still for a moment. She lowered her shoulder and used her right hand to hold her mobile. "You didn't kill those people, Harry. You are not responsible for anyone's death. It hurts, yes, it does, and incredibly so, but the pain doesn't go away by hiding it."

More alleged static on the other end was heard by her. "Do you ever consider a career in psychology after Hogwarts?"

At the light-feel that the conversation had suddenly picked up, Hermione snorted in a very unladylike fashion. "I'm aware I can be a bit of a sensitive person, Harry, but emotions aren't my forte. I can do more healing and helping with accurate and honest facts. Give me a potions set and I'll brew up a cure to anything."

Harry chuckled. "So, Miss Brightest Witch of the Age, I'm assuming you're not going to be taking anything easy this year, are you?"

"I spent my actual Seventh Year on the run, Harry; I have so much to catch up on! And don't you think for a second I'm going to let any of you slide by. You want to be an Auror, you're going to have to work for it."

There was a nasty scoff. "I could've been an Auror, 'Mione. You forget that Kingsley offered us a direct entrance to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. I'm finishing my education because you and Mrs. Weasley have nagged and nagged Ron and I."

"—Hermione!"

"Someone's got to look out for you two children," Hermione said in a parental manner, ignoring the call of her own mother echoing from downstairs for a moment. "But anyway, Harry, promise me you'll stay for a bit longer. It'll give Mrs. Weasley some peace."

"—Hermione!"

There was a grumble. "...I'll try."

"And Ginny?" Hermione pressed, still ignoring her mother's calls as she stood in the middle of her cozy room; a hand on her hip as she scolded her best friend via phone. "Don't let her get away from you, Harry. You'll never forgive yourself if you lose her by your own stupid thoughts."

"I'll try," he mumbled again.

"Honestly," she huffed. "Anyway, I've gotta go; my mum's calling for me."

"You didn't get to talk to Ron, though."

This time she was the one who grumbled. "...He went to go get a glass of water an hour ago, Harry. If he'd wanted to talk to me, he would have already."

"I'm sure he just—"

"See you in a few days, okay?" She interrupted him.

There was a resigned sigh. "Alright. See you later, 'Mione."

With a few little comments passed, Hermione quickly pressed the red button of her phone and ended the call. And right as her mother started calling for her again, sounding a little annoyed and wary, she exited her room and decided to finish packing her trunk later. It was probably leftovers for dinner and the more she made her parents wait, the more her mother was probably scared the food would go bad.

She hummed a light tune casually, making her way down the polished, wooden staircase. With a triumphant smile on her face, since she didn't trip on that long, emerald rug that danced its way up in a straight fashion on the steps and that's been catching her by surprise every time she heads downstairs, she jumped down the final step with a big grin.

"Sorry, Mum. I was on the phone with Harry and—" Her grin and explanation faltered and died when she noticed two people sitting on the beige sofa across her mother's brown armchair. It was a couple, married—she concluded when she saw their clasps hands and a shiny ring on the woman's finger. And both were wearing robes, not typical for muggles.

They both stood instantly and Hermione caught a long look at them. The man was tall, broad-shouldered, and with soft tanned skinned; almost like chocolate milk. His hair, which was styled in short and tamed curls, was pitch black, but with a few flecks of brown strands when the light of the living room hit it. He had incredible and striking emerald eyes, the type that made gems jealous. There was a gentle smile on his face that could look overpowering by the beard that he wore if he decided to do so. He looked intimidating yet approachable in an appropriate angle.

The woman was almost an opposite of the man. She was of average height, reaching around the man's chest. Though her skin was not pale white, it wasn't as dark as her husband's either; it just had the kiss of the sun on it. She had high cheekbones that were flushed with a creamy peach color, and her mouth was full, and her nose small and defined. Her eyes were the color of honey, pure, golden honey, and they were almond shaped. Her hair fell to her waist in waves, just as black as her husband's. She was rather beautiful and striking, especially with the way she presented herself at first glance.

Flushing a little with embarrassment that she had been staring at the strangers, Hermione turned to the simple, yet sweet-looking brunette still sitting on the armchair. "Mum?" Though her voice was leveled and neutral, Hermione put her hands behind her back; the fingers of her left hand touching the wand that was tucked in the hem of her sleeping-shorts.

Looking at the married couple and at the girl for a few silent moment, Mrs. Granger sighed tiredly. "Hermione...sweetheart, there's something important I must tell you."

"Like who these people are?" Hermione offered, almost a little tactless as she now watched the intruders cautiously.

Mrs. Granger stood now, and as she took slow steps towards the others, Hermione could see the tears sparkling in her mother's eyes. "These are...This is Deon and Allegra Zabini," the woman said shakily. "They're your biological parents."


	2. The Ending of a Story

**Lover of the Light**

**Chapter One: **The Ending of a Story**  
**

"_I have done wrong so build your tower, but call me home."_

To say that the house had gone deadly silent was an understatement. It was like no one was breathing, like no one was blinking, like the floors didn't creak in that automatic way that usually had Mrs. Granger believing there were ghost in her home. The passing cars outside of the house were no longer there; not even the voices of the few children playing outside in their yards before the night got heavier and they were forced in were heard.

She stood wide-eyed, her own chest not heaving in or out with air. That brilliant head of hers wasn't sending its usual signals to her lungs to inhale air, to keep her coherent and puffed with oxygen. She just gaped, her heart was beating in her chest like a drummer's wicked solo.

She couldn't really say how long that silence lasted or who was the one to move first, but all she knew was that her legs gave out and she stumbled down onto that last step of the staircase. All three adults moved fast, like time had sped up again, calling for her warily, but she let out a shrill, "_Don't_!" and they all backed away from her.

Her lungs hadn't bothered to provide her with air the few moments before, but now they had gone into overdrive. She was inhaling, exhaling, inhaling, exhaling nonstop; her chest heaving as she felt like her body had just been submerged into ice. Shudders ran along her skin. She was panicking; her entire senses going off into fight-or-flight mode because they sensed danger. She was almost paralyzed with shock and dread.

"Relax, sweetheart; you're going to—"

"Don't call me that!" She snapped at the brunette woman. Tears welled up in her eyes automatically, her chest still going in and out rapidly. "What's going on? Why are these people here—_who are they_?!"

Mrs. Granger looked at the teenage girl sadly, and there were tears in her own brown eyes. "...I've already told you."

"No, you're lying to me!" Hermione frowned at the brunette woman she'd lived with all her life. "Where's my dad?" She then asked loudly, noticing for the first time that the dark-haired man with kind and gently hazel eyes named Richard Granger was missing. "Where is he?!"

The woman released a few tears. "He left, sweetheart." And her voice cracked, heavy sentiment laced with her words. "He needed to take a walk when they got here. He...He couldn't bare to lose you. He can't say goodbye."

Very weakly, still feeling like someone was pounding on her chest, sucking the life out of her even, the brunette girl pulled herself up from the step of the staircase by the silver rail sticking out from the nearby wall. And with her vision blurry from unshed tears, Hermione glanced at her mother with more resolve. "Who are they?" She asked once more; more determination and demand in her tone. "Why are they here?"

Making movement by his own free-will, Deon Zabini took a calculated and soft step towards the girl and the muggle woman. "We're your parents, Hermione," he said to her in a deep, yet accommodating way. "We really are your biological parents."

Hermione took a step back immediately, her left foot already on the step behind her, like she was ready to retreat. She couldn't look at the man so she turned to who she was familiar with. "Mum?" She called with a small sob. "Mum tell me...tell me this is a joke."

Jennifer Granger shook her head. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I can't. This really is the truth."

The girl swallowed roughly, more tears falling without control down her cheeks. "H-How?" She asked shakily. "How did...How did I even..." She trailed off, covering her face with her hands as she cried loudly.

All three adults looked sadly at the girl. They didn't want to hurt her, they didn't even want her to find out like this, but time was running out and it needed to happen. One day they knew it would, sooner or later, and this was that time.

Taking her own initiative, like how her husband had, Allegra Zabini also took calculated and careful steps towards the crying teenager. She aimed a look at the two other adults, questioning in her eyes, a cautious gleam in them, and they both nodded at her. They both agreed she should take the push to approach the girl.

So with the idea that reason was on her side, the elegant woman stood a few inches from the girl. There was a hammering to her chest, and she was almost embarrassed to think that everyone in the Granger household could hear it; that she was an unstable and nervous mess on the inside.

With a deep breath that came out silent she asked, "Do you want to know our story?"

Hermione stopped sobbing into her palms at the voice that spoke to her so near that her shoulders stiffened in surprise and fear. She was never lied to in her life, and she certainly never lied to anyone for the hell of it. She was an honest person, always about facts and what was morally right. How could it be that she—that Hermione Granger—had been living a lie? How could it be that _she _was the lie? She was the definition of honesty and truth, for goodness sake.

Her crumbled side told her to run up to her bedroom, slam the door, and scream at the top of her lungs like a regular teenage girl would do. That part wanted to yell, destroy, and hide. That part of her wanted to escape, to hide in her bed with the covers thrown over her; with the only possibility of coming out once that monsters had disappeared from her house.

But she wasn't that girl, was she?

Her logical side told her to stand tall, wipe the tears from her face, and listen to what these people had to say to her. That part wanted—no—_demanded_ to know what was going on, what they wanted, and why they lied to her. That part wanted to look all of them in the eyes, to show that she was capable of so much, that she was strong. She wanted them to treat her like the legal adult she was now, of that mature girl she's always been.

Yes, _that's_ who she was.

She lowered her trembling hands from her face, wiping those weak and scared tears from her cheeks in the process, and narrowed her brown eyes at the woman watching her. With an amount of effort she managed to mask her expression into that of nothing, and then simply nodded at the woman; allowing her to speak with the promise she'd listen.

Expecting the poised woman to talk, Hermione was almost knocked back down onto the step when the woman's husband was the one to speak with his accented, profound voice. "The story started in Italy," he approached now, standing tall and firm next to his wife, "where Allegra and I are from. The tale of how we came to be is one for another moment, but to keep with this one I've to say that we were madly in love and we wanted to start a family together. But it was all at a great risk.

"You see, there were wars between ancient Italian families in those times. There were deaths, treachery, and friends turning against friends. People were taken hostage for the simple fact of how much money their family had, how much was that family willing to give up for the ransom, or what properties and territories were they willing to hand over. It was dangerous and brutal, so we fled to Britain for a better life the moment Allegra knew she was pregnant with you."

The man paused, lowering his staggering emerald eyes from Hermione. He looked a little remorseful—and Hermione recognized that look from the many she'd seen on Harry. It was was a self-loathing, self-disgusted light that gleamed in their eyes. The man felt bad for something, hated himself for something, that even his wife had to put a supportive hand on his shoulder.

With that bit of action, the man glanced at his wife for a moment, something passing through them like a secret language in the way they stared and blinked that Hermione was almost tempted to look away. Before she could, however, the man picked up his gaze once more and his eyes had fallen into hers.

"I made the mistake of believing I was pulling Allegra away from Italy and its barbaric violence, but instead I led us straight into another form of hell." Whatever gentle tone had been in his voice, the man lost it and replaced it with cool vibrations. "Word had gotten out around the British wizarding community that a Zabini heir and a Vivaldi heir were now residing there. And once word had gotten to...certain people, we gained unwanted attention. Two members of two separate ancient, rich, powerful and pureblood families...how could there not be?"

With her left hand, Hermione reached for the rail of the staircase again. She felt dizzy, sick to her stomach; her brain had already concluded the next part of these people's story by what they had already said. She was tempted to tell them to stop, she didn't want to hear anymore.

"I cannot say that we came from families who were humble and just, Hermione," the man spoke, only taking another brief pause after he noticed the girl go paler than what she already was. "Our family trees were carefully grown, pure and whole; dated back to the eldest ancestor recorded. We were raised to know our place as purebloods—however, we did not care for the fight that was rumored to be happening in Britain. We wanted power and money, not slaves and blood.

"However, trying to build a life for us here, without the money of our families since we had fled, I took what money I'd inherited from my mother's side and I invested it. I was good with that; building businesses and expanding money is what we Zabini men do best. Of course, they weren't always clean and honest contracts that built our fortunes. As such, I got involved with a few people on the wrong side. A friend of mine...a Death Eater, warned me that I was a step away from being recruited at any given moment. The Dark Lord had been impressed by my abilities and he wanted me in his circle. This friend...This friend also warned me that if I were to decline the request, Allegra and you would suffer the consequences of my rejection."

Of course, Hermione thought, these people just kept bringing more wrong into her life that moment. She truly felt sick and disgusted, by them and herself. But through that, as she felt bile rise in her throat, she couldn't help but still recognize that self-hatred in the man's eyes. And to add to it, the man's wife squeezed his shoulder and looked like she wanted to break her poised exterior and embrace him with all her might. She felt nauseated by them and their tale, but there was love among them that she thought that maybe they were worth another moment of her undivided attention.

"You have to know this, Hermione," the man spoke once more, "Allegra was never like us. She's been pure, just, and righteous from the moment I knew of her so many years ago. She came from a powerful and bigot family, yes, but she was never like them. She saw the beauty and purpose in everyone. And while I was handling the business front, dealing with people I should not have been dealing with against her wishes, she integrated herself into the community away from the Dark Lord's influence.

"My wife, through my protests and what we had been taught as children, worked from day one in a clothing shop in London. She was barely a month pregnant with you when she started, even enrolling herself in a muggle university to get a degree in law."

With a dim smile, the woman removed her hand from her husband's shoulder and took steps towards the silent woman in the background. She stood next to Mrs. Granger, and with a gentle action, she took one of the muggle's hands into hers. "That's where I met Jenny and Rich," she said in a whisper that echoed. "Jenny was in several of my literature classes, and she also worked at the shop with me. She was so sweet, friendly, that it was destined for us to be friends."

Squeezing the woman's hand, Jennifer Granger smiled back at the woman. "You were just as sweet, Ally." A moment of silence passed between the two women, but it was quickly cut short when the brunette looked at the young girl by the staircase. "Richard and I had been together since I was fifteen, and life was just going perfectly for us. He was a year from finishing his dentistry degree, already making enough money, and I was close to receiving my title in two years time. I didn't have much time for friends, but Allegra snuck her way onto most of my daily routines that it just happened. About three months of knowing her we were inseparable, and Richard adored her too. And it wasn't until about five months into her pregnancy that she informed us of it, and I told her of mine. I was just a month behind her."

"I was eight months pregnant when the Death Eaters finally started hunting Deon down." It was now Allegra Zabini's turn to continue the tale that'd been kept and hidden for years. "He refused constantly, always sent them away, and thanks to that friend of his, Deon avoided the vicious encounters some Death Eaters planned to use to persuade him to join. The Dark Lord was getting restless in that time for some reason, more dangerous, that he wanted as many followers as he could get. It was then that I started preparing an escape route."

Mister Zabini's face was void of all emotions, and Hermione knew people well enough to know that they masked their emotions when negative ones were what they were feeling. This man was full of them, full of regret, shame, and self-loathing. He was full of hurt. And with the words that were now coming out of his wife's mouth from her stance a few feet away, he looked like he was working hard to compose an icy exterior.

"At almost nine months pregnant, so close to giving birth, I told Jenny and Rich all about what and who I was," the woman said. "To my surprise they accepted my story so easily, without any doubt because they trusted me fully. As such, I took advantage of their kindness and asked for a favor...I asked them to take you if it needed to come down to it."

There was another pause, but this time it was a painful tension that connected the muggle woman to the adult witch. With hands still clasped together, both looked sadly at each other; like they were remembering the memories of what came after.

"...This friend of Deon's let us know that the Dark Lord was planning on visiting us personally if he continued to reject the order to join his forces. And we knew perfectly well that it wasn't going to be a nice chat—he was going to come and kill." Allegra let out a breath. "The fear and stress sent me into labor a week before I was due...And like fate had it already planned, Jenny went into labor almost two months before she was due that same day."

"I lost the baby," Mrs. Granger cut across, adding to the story that somehow was hers too. "It was too weak to survive. So when Allegra came to us in the hospital, you wrapped in a bundle in her arms, I couldn't deny her. I had promised her. I had promised that I would take you, protect you if it wasn't safe for her to do so herself. And it was then, with no witnesses, that she handed you over to me and she disappeared."

"Not before confounding a nice doctor in that hospital to write up a birth certificate for Jenny and Rich." The woman smiled at Mrs. Granger, the sadness still among both of them. And once again, that only lasted a moment before the unknown woman glanced back at her rightful daughter and her husband. "Deon's friend had let it slip that I had gone into early labor, with complications, and the lie to say that I lost the child while giving birth was believable once it was played right."

A broken sob had echoed in the house, and it came from Jennifer Granger. "It was unbearable, Hermione," the woman squeaked, "but you've to understand that the Zabinis did what was going to keep you alive. They didn't want a life for you in the awful man's influence and evil; they wanted to protect you...It broke Allegra's heart, but she buried you in an empty grave for a chance of your survival."

Lifting his head up, Deon Zabini stared at the women's direction. "No one would have ever expected that the daughter of a Zabini and a Vivaldi was given to muggles for safekeeping. No respectable pureblood would hand their child and have them be raised as a muggle-born, and that's what made it a perfect plan." One of his hands balled into a fist, resentment twitching his fingers, but he kept his eyes on the muggle woman. "And we've thanked Jennifer and Richard Granger since then for raising you and doing a wonderful job at it."

Not realizing that she'd been shedding thick tears all along, Hermione's vision of the three adults became blurry. And once again, with so much emotions, so many of them unknown and painful, making her dizzy, she slipped down onto that last step of the wooden staircase. She was still holding onto the rail, but she was shaking with silent sobs.

She couldn't believe what she was hearing. This story was too far-fetched, too impossible for her logical mind to even deem it true. She was Hermione Granger—she was the only daughter of two dentists in London, a muggle-born witch with no magical relatives. That's what her head knew, that was the truth.

But now these people were here, and along with her _mother_, they told her that it wasn't. They fed her brilliant and always-working brain new information to process, new options, new facts to try and get her to see them as the truth. They stood there and they made Hermione Granger disappear. Eighteen years—if she even was eighteen—wiped away by a lie.

Who was she then?

The always curious side of her head betrayed her, making her mouth move and ask in a voice she didn't even know she had at all anymore a question that needed to be answered. "Why?" She didn't look up from the wooden boards of the house's floor, she just whispered. "Why did you come now to tell me this?"

Once more, it was Mister Zabini the one who spoke. "We spent a year living in the Dark Lord's circle before he fell the first time. Though many of his followers thought him gone, there were several of us who knew better. A vile and dark wizard like that could not be defeated by a child, especially one who feared death as he did. It was a matter of time before he appeared once more, gathering his followers and picking up where he stopped—we knew it wasn't safe to bring you back yet. You would be in danger if he returned. So we kept away from you, charmed you so that we wouldn't recognize who you were, so no one could put two and two together and tie you to—"

"Charm me?" Hermione squeaked. "What does that mean?"

Allegra Zabini gave her an apologetic smile from her place next to Mrs. Granger. "A Glamour Charm; a necessary one. I was always gifted with my spell-work. It wasn't difficult to cast a potent one on you to last you all your lifetime if it came down to it."

The girl's brown eyes were wide, looking thoroughly appalled.

"Of course that didn't work," Deon continued, not wanting the girl to dwell too much on that fact just yet. "We never sought you out the first eleven years of your life, until we recognized you and someone told us all about you. Fate was cunning, and at the end of your First Year at Hogwarts, we spotted you and the Grangers at the platform and we started keeping secret tabs on you. We continued to keep our distance, never contacting the Grangers, but we knew what there was to know about you."

Having had forgotten about the mention of the Glamour Charm on her, Hermione was now appalled to think someone had been watching her since she was a little girl. "How?" She demanded.

Neither of the Zabinis said anything for a moment. The silence wasn't tensed with unbearable memories and dark secrets this time; Hermione could kind of sense an embarrassed hesitance instead. And it was confirmed by a small, secretive smirk that Mrs. Zabini tried to hide, and a reddish tint to the man's tanned face.

And after another minute the man finally replied with, "Your brother kept us informed."

The story these two were feeding her had gone from doubtful to ridiculous in a quick second. She was inclined to hex them, rope them, and send them to the mental ward in St. Mungo's. There was no way those two were coherent and all there in the head. What part of Hermione Granger, _only child_, did they not get?

At the incredulous look the girl was giving them, Mister Zabini took it, once more, upon himself to explain. "Like I mentioned before, the story of how Allegra and I came to be is not one that should be told right now. But...I will say that before her and I started a relationship, I was bestowed to another woman. This woman and I knew from early on we were supposed to get married, that had been the tradition in our families for centuries, but of course...I fell for Allegra."

The man cleared his throat uncomfortably, shooting his wife a glare with his green eyes as she smirked wider. "The woman and I were best friends, and neither of us wanted to marry one another. So when she knew I was taken with Allegra, she helped me plan my escape from Italy; even while knowing that she was three months pregnant herself then."

"Deon has always looked after the boy," Mrs. Zabini added, defending her husband's actions as the man looked more ill-eased speaking about a story that was personal and not really part of the one they were there to share. "And when he turned eleven, ready to start school, his mother brought him to Britain so he could attend Hogwarts. He stayed with us on some occasions, but it wasn't until...the devastation that this war left behind that we received full custody of him. His mother was killed at the end of his Sixth Year."

Hermione dropped a few more tears, and she didn't even know why she let them. She shed those tears for a boy who lost his mother; a boy who was supposed to be her brother. But that's whom Hermione was, she was compassionate and understanding of other people's pain. Why would they come and take that from her?

"...So I have a brother," she said in a mumble. "Alright. But...that doesn't explain why you're here."

"The war is over, Hermione," the man said, his voice back to dripping softness. "The Dark Lord has fallen for good now, and we want you to come back to us. We lost seventeen years, we're not wasting another." He fist clenched into a ball again, resentment making it do that, but he continued with, "You need to come with us. Females of ancient Italian families, like the Zabinis and Vivaldis, aren't considered legal adults until they're twenty-one. A spell was created centuries ago to bind every generation of women that are born with the enchantment in their blood to comply to it. It's non-negotiable."

No longer feeling weak with surprise and fear, Hermione shot up from the step with anger and outrage. "That's barbaric!" She hissed at the unknown man. "What kind of people chain up the women in their families!" Mister Zabini took a step away from her, a gleam of amusement in his eyes that went unnoticed by the raging girl. "Secondly, how dare you come into my house and _force _me to go with you!"

At the hysterics that the girl was now in, Mrs. Granger was the only one brave enough to march right up to her. "Hermione Jean Granger," the woman scolded firmly, "lower your voice, you're not a child." The girl looked ready to protest at the lecture, but the woman who had claimed to be her mother for years was not done yet. "You listen to me, I raised you to be an understanding person, Hermione. I taught you that it's always important to listen to someone who comes to you with an open heart and a soul full with remorse. You know better than to judge anyone by their past, especially if they're trying to redeem their present and future."

A dosage of the girl's fury subsided. "...You want me to go?" She questioned, tears in her brown eyes again. "How...How can you want me to leave? You're my mum—_you_. And...And Dad, he's my...Why do you want me to leave? Don't make me leave!"

Mrs. Granger's eyes mirrored the ones of Hermione; filling with heartbreaking tears too. She closed the distance between them, her trembling hands reaching for the girl's face and holding tightly to the sides of it. "Listen, Richard and I love you so much. You may not be ours by blood or flesh, but you'll _always _be our daughter. Always." More tears fell from both of them. "But they're your parents, Hermione. They handed you to us to protect, and they've lived seventeen years with longing and hurt because they had to give you away. Parents who love their child so fiercely, Hermione, will do anything to make sure their well-being is secured above all."

"But I...I'm Hermione Granger," the girl cried. "I don't know who else to be."

The brunette woman smiled. "You're still you, sweetheart. That doesn't change; your heart and soul are still the same." There was a brief moment of silence. "Allegra is a wonderful woman, Hermione, and you reminded me so much of her as you grew. Give it the chance to get to know her, to get to know the Zabinis and your roots, dear. Be that girl with the open heart and wide capacity to love."

With her hands shaking too, Hermione grabbed the ones of Mrs. Granger and held on tight. So many tears were being shed from her eyes that she felt quite silly for a split second for thinking that she would never be able to produce more in her lifetime since she was wasting them in that moment. "I love you," she murmured. "I love you so much, and you'll always be my mum. Just like Dad will always...will always be my father."

"I know," Mrs. Granger murmured back.

Nothing else was said by both brunettes as Mrs. Granger pulled her into a bone-crushing hug, kissed her forehead, and then released her with all the willpower her body had to give. She knew from the moment that Allegra Zabini marched into her hospital room, where she was crying with grief for the loss of her own child, that she would one day have to give Hermione back. This was just a moment that she had been prepared for; a moment that was destined to happen.

And when Hermione lost the warmth of the sweet, soft-spoken woman with the brown eyes that had been said she inherited hers from, she knew that the story had gone from doubtful, to ridiculous, to painfully true.

This was her story. And after seventeen years of being kept in the dark, of being a secret, and a well-told lie, she was thrust back into it so she could take her rightful place into a family and society that had watched her from the shadows.


	3. The Buried Past

**Lover of the Light**

**Chapter Two: **The Buried Past**  
**

The first thing she saw after the feeling of being pulled, twisted, and shoved through tubes—the distinctive feel of apparition—ended was black. It had to be after midnight, and the sky was still as moonless as it was hours ago before everything changed.

She heaved for some air through her gritted teeth, pulling her hand away from one that was still gripping hers strongly. She blinked, shaking her head as if she could simply shake out the dizzying feeling that was left after. She would've liked to blame it on the apparition, but she knew that her entire physical and mental being was exhausted to shreds. The past three hours had been the worst of her lifetime, and she had been through the horrendous process of war since she was eleven.

Taking weak steps, just to get away from the presence of others at her sides, she focused on her breathing; all while her vision settled itself. Though it was dark out, the stars still gave light and she saw what waited before her.

Standing about seven feet away from her was a giant gate: it was white, she could see it even at night, everything about it was thick, and it stretched left and right for a few yards until it connected with unknown walls. It was majestic looking, and every metallic rail had eccentric detail. It rose high to a peak that had hints of ancient, Victorian design, a peak that was more exquisite and far more detailed than the rest of the gates with all of its arches and flares. And if it wasn't for the striking eagle at the center of the gates, Hermione would have confused them for the pearly, white gates of heaven.

It wasn't until she had carefully extended her index finger forward to lightly touch one of the rails of the gates that she noticed that her curious mind had automatically marched her forward. And it was in the second that her skin came in contact with the metal that the eagle at the center spread its wings, astounding her. The detailed creature was split right down the middle—opening the gates and exposing the unbelievable sight before her.

"It recognizes your blood." Hermione had almost imagined herself alone, but it wasn't until that deep voice that belonged to Deon Zabini entered her eardrums, startling her more than what she was, that she remembered she wasn't.

Turning away from the giant gates, Hermione looked up and saw that the two figures she had wanted to lose in the shadows were closer to her than what she wanted. They both looked calm, too calm for her liking, and she wanted nothing more for them not to be. She loathed the fact that she had to leave with them at all, the fact that nothing was like what she wanted it to be in that very second.

"The gates have only been allowed to open for three Zabinis for the past twelve years, and to add you to the enchantment was a little complex," the man explained as he put a careful hand on the small of the girl's back and led her forward and through those gates. "We had debated about enchanting the gates to open for those only with Zabini connections, either by blood or marriage, but that posed a security problem within itself."

"So to add you to the enchantment was all my doing." Still in a complete daze, Hermione was startled once more as another voice entered her ears, but this time from her right side. She risked a small glance and she saw that Allegra Zabini was smirking triumphantly. "I mixed a few ounces of the Zabini blood with my own, with my Vivaldi blood, and I managed to replicate some of your particular DNA for the purpose of the spell. It took about a week to get the right components and such, but I'm glad to see it was successful."

Hermione blinked down to the smooth pathway of pavement beneath her feet. There was a frown creasing her forehead—these people had already been planning to take her for a while then. They had already set everything up to rip her away from a life she loved and was completely sure with to bring her here; to a place that wasn't hers no matter what they said.

She hadn't really known how long they had walked because she wasn't focused on the distance or the surroundings that she passed but the floor beneath her, but when they finally came to a stop, the soles of her feet burned like she'd definitely walked a measurable length. And when she forced herself to look up, she knew she had stepped into a world of a pureblood society.

At first glance, the mansion before her was impressing on its own. No matter what side she looked towards, whether it be right or left, it seemed to stretch for miles that her eyes couldn't really calculate the ending. There were a lot of windows with white-rimmed panes, arched and located perfectly around the house. There were also tall towers here and there, and she wondered if they were used as observing decks or they were just pointless and part of the architecture. The mansion was an overall taupe color, with a few outlines of a chestnut.

The sizable amount of yards that could be considered the entrance pathway towards the doors of the mansion was made of marble. On its own it was arched like the ends of an oval, all parted by giant statues of marble into three separate openings. The side openings of the entrance pathway both held two floating chandeliers, made up of an opaque crystal; shooting out bursts of tamed flames. The doors were also beautiful and detailed on its own to a breathtaking design, but she didn't have a chance to examine them when they opened and her heart started pounding in her chest.

It was cold out and she was still wearing her sleeping-shorts and an old t-shirt, but she didn't really feel the numbing cold touch her flesh; instead she started sweating. Her palms started getting clammy, a knot formed in her throat, her chest began heaving once more, and she was overall filled with panic. Little by little she started losing control of her body and she just let those strangers guide her through.

The lights inside the mansion blinded her, startled her, and she wanted an excuse to shut her eyes so she could pray that she'd just pass out and then wake up as if it all had been a dream. But she was logical, she had to remember that, so she knew perfectly well that wasn't going to happen. She was royally screwed by that, so for the first time she wished she wasn't Hermione Granger.

At that thought, a hysterical laugh almost passed through her lips and sounded out of her. How could she wish not to be Hermione Jean Granger when she already wasn't?

She didn't pay attention to anything in the open distance surrounding her, the fact that the house was filled with more light than she would've assumed, or the explanation of certain things the woman at her right side was giving. She didn't look twice at the painted portraits that were so common in wizarding homes, not hearing the details of who the person in them was to the strangers' family, and she didn't even bother to complement a few pieces of artwork that the Zabinis seemed to be fond of.

All she could think of was that this place, just at first glance, disgusted her. She wasn't so dazed as to not notice that so far, of what she'd seen and noticed of their detail and exquisiteness, was beautiful and told a lot about the prosperous fortune that the family had. She knew how to appreciate the history that the entire mansion was on its own, not counting the obvious ones of artwork, statues, or whatever, but none of it mattered. She didn't care how far back dated anything was, who had owned it, or whom had passed it down to whom, she just wanted to be _home_. She preferred her three bedroom, little house in the middle of a quaint neighborhood, the stilled photographs in picture-frames on the walls, the Van Gogh painting that had cost a month's salary to buy, the replicas of a few famous paintings, and the earthy tones inside the house. She wanted the Grangers household, not this.

After the story Deon and Allegra Zabini went to tell was finished, and Hermione had somehow been pressured to believe it, to go with them, she had cried endlessly when Mrs. Granger had walked upstairs with her to finish packing the trunk she was almost done with to take to Hogwarts. The brunette woman had suggested to pack more things, most of her belongings, but Hermione had refused. She didn't want to take all of her stuff, she wanted the room to hold most of her precious items because it would be like she would be back. She _promised _she'd be back. However, Mrs. Granger had just given her a sad, tearful smile and not said a single word about such vow. It broke Hermione's heart to believe that maybe Mrs. Granger thought that was the final time they would ever see one another.

It had taken fifteen minutes, after her trunk had been filled with all her things, when the two Granger females—one legit and the other apparently a fraud—went back downstairs to where the Zabinis sat waiting. The man had said something about sending her belongings there, but Hermione hadn't bothered to listen to him when she'd turned to the door. She had been expecting her father, Richard Granger, to march through the door, but in those three minutes she stared silently at the door he never came.

When Mister Zabini had made a passive comment that the moment to leave had arrived, Hermione had turned to her mother and gripped her tight. She had begged the woman to let her stay, not caring that the other strangers could hear her, but the woman had just hugged her and just chuckled softly. And before Hermione unwillingly took the hands of Mister and Mrs. Zabini for a side-long apparition, Mrs. Granger had confidently told the girl that she would love and enjoy everything that was awaiting for her.

The woman had clearly been wrong.

A stinging sensation was felt behind her eyes, but she didn't get a chance to let those tears out when a door was opened and she was asked to step inside. In that moment Hermione noticed that they had somehow made it to one of the levels upstairs of the mansion and that the door that was opened was the only one in fact in that spacious hallway.

Once inside, Hermione distinctly heard a quick spell and then lights went off all around. This room was grand and extensive. The first thing she noticed was the walls: the majority composing up the room were purple, a vibrant kind that was printed with leafy designs, and the others were white to collect light and hold it. A purple wall straight ahead of where she stood by the entrance of the door held two giant windows, but whatever was on the other side wasn't seen by the almost completely drawn curtains that flowed beautifully, like a lavender wash of silk.

The next thing she noticed was the massive bed towards the furthest end of the center of the room. The bedding was two shades of purple darker than the walls, but it also held white. The sheets were thick and clearly made of expensive material, and they bared curious detailing that made patterns of their own. There were also far more pillows on that bed that she'd ever thought were necessary for one person. Surrounding the great bed was four tall, white, marbled postings; one in every corner. The material hanging and connecting the postings together from above were that shade of lavender that the curtains of the windows were. The curtains of the canopy were tied open by vibrant purple ropes with little crystals dangling from their ends; reminding her a bit of an Arabian night for some reason.

"It's a bit...purple," she heard Allegra Zabini say behind her in a controlled whisper, "but I hope you like it. It's...It's my favorite color and I thought that maybe it'd be yours too."

Hermione didn't respond anything to the women because in that moment she stepped further in, her treacherous, curious mind ordered her feet to move and explore a little further into the room. Also, her favorite color _was _purple, but she didn't want to give the woman something to be happy about when she couldn't find anything to be so herself.

She turned slightly in an angle and she noticed that one of the walls was not in that purple and white color scheme the Zabinis had going on for her. And as she approached it carefully she noticed that it couldn't really be considered a wall, it was thousands of falling stars dripping down in lines from the edge of the ceiling to the edge of the ground.

She had a thing for astronomy, Hermione did. She liked constellations, planets, and the galaxies. Though she wasn't a ditzy dreamer, she could appreciate the fact that everything in the sky and everything light-years away had their own story; their own true tales and held so much knowledge.

Quickly turning away from that scenery of stars, because she felt the stinging behind her eyes once more, she noticed that the enormous bedroom had two doors in the furthest right and ending walls.

"The one at the end is your bathroom," the woman spoke again. "And the one on the right is where your sitting room will be."

Hermione had been about to take a step towards the door at the right side but she stopped. She really didn't want to see anymore. She didn't want to keep being flashed with all these illustrious things and marvelous decor. She wanted her old bedroom, the one with four walls, a small bed, and her self-made collage of photographs of the people she loved and moments that mattered to her.

"I'm sure you're well up past your usual hours." Suddenly there was a hand on her shoulder, giving her a gentle spin away so she could face the direction of the exit of the bedroom. For a quick second she allowed herself the chance to look up and find the staggering eyes of Deon Zabini. "We'll let you sleep now."

The elegant woman took soft step towards them. There was a gentle smile stretching her full lips and a kind gaze in her honey-colored eyes. "If you need anything, _tesoro_, our wing is two below this one, on the west end. Don't hesitate to come looking for us."

"We know it's been overwhelming and we don't want to keep adding distress," the dark-skinned man said again in a low tone. "Sleep now." After a gentle squeeze to her shoulder, he dropped his hand, gave her a dim smile and walked several steps away from her.

Mrs. Zabini smiled too and took a step forward, her arms going up, but her husband caught the left one and pulled her back carefully. The smile on the woman's face disappeared almost completely and what was left of it was sort of heartbreaking that the affectionate side of Hermione was tempted to walk to her and embrace her. But Hermione just wasn't ready for contact and sweet words, the man had known that so he'd halted his wife.

"Good Night," the woman said in a whisper.

And just like that, Hermione watched Mister and Mrs. Zabini exit the giant room and close the door behind them. In that moment she dropped to her knees and started sobbing for everything around her that wasn't hers and what she knew of. Sleep be damned.

**X**

Sometime, maybe a little well after five in the morning, Hermione had picked herself up from the floor of her new room and dragged herself to the bed. She'd only done it because she was afraid that if any of the Zabinis opened the door and saw her curled into a ball, eyes red from crying, that they'd deem her pathetic and immature—though she strongly believed she had every right to be crying her heart out if she so desired. Another part of her wanted to stay in the ball for them to stumble upon, so they could see what they did to her, but she knew that her muggle-mother would've never been pleased if she knew she did something to purposely hurt another person.

And even though she had climbed onto that great bed, even though she had slipped underneath the silk sheets, she did not fall asleep once. She just laid on the right corner of the bed, looking up at the white ceiling, hands folded at the center of her chest, and did nothing. It wasn't long after until small shreds of light started popping in through the small gaps that the curtains of her window had left open, but again, she hadn't moved or done anything.

Ten minutes ago, after she found that her eyes were dry and sore, she stopped crying and blinked away from the constant view of the ceiling. She looked around, and courtesy of the light from outside, she found other little trinkets in the room to explore. For example, she noticed the nightstand beside her: itself was made of white marble with metallic knobs, and on the surface there was five small, crystal, cylinder vases with opaque endings and thick, rimmed rings in the middle to add some sort of dent to it. And inside of the vases were purple flowers she knew as Million Bells, all with their long stems.

Another thing she noticed, and that her traitorous mind had almost convinced her to stand up and see, was the outrageous bookcase that took two of the furthest walls hostage. She counted from the bed and found that there was fifteen rows of books on each, and each and every one of them contained thick books with interesting titles. For a brief moment, she betrayed herself by wondering if she was going to have to ask for a ladder to reach the highest level when she worked her way up to it.

As she berated herself for even thinking, even if for a millisecond, that she was going to stay here and enjoy her time by reading, she missed the loud _crack _sound that echoed around her new bedroom.

"Good Morning, young Mistress."

"Ahh!" Hermione screamed when a little creature appeared out of thin air, startling her out of her thoughts as its giant eyes blinked at her.

"Ahh!"

At the copied, high-pitched shriek that the creature gave, Hermione jumped out of the bed and put her hands up in surrender so it would stop screaming too. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she squeaked to the house-elf who looked terribly frightened. "Shh. I'm sorry. It's just...you surprised me."

Immediately the house-elf stopped screaming and looked at its shoulder, where the young girl had placed her hand there to steady the creature down. She looked back up at the girl and saw that a small, apologetic smile was on her pretty face. That calmed the creature instantly. "Forgive Button for scaring you, Mistress." It patted Hermione's hand on its shoulder affectionately.

Though the house-elf looked calmed and at ease, Hermione did not. "Don't call me that," she told Button, sounding almost rude and aggravated. "I'm not your mistress. I'm Hermione; call me that."

"Button cannot!" The house-elf looked outraged again. "Button must never calls the masters anything else! What woulds they say?!"

"It doesn't matter what they say, I'm not your master," she said patiently at it. Though she was still a strong advocate of equal rights for all magicals species, human or not, Hermione had long learned—especially from Kreature—that not all house-elves wanted to be freed. And by the look of this particular house-elf she knew it enjoyed being at the Zabini mansion.

The house-elf was small and lanky like all others, but she had a bit of a glow about her. She wore a little dress that reminded Hermione of those flowery things that would usually come attached to the dolls she would see little girls play with when she instead had her nose shoved in a book. She didn't wear shoes, but the creature had a little bonnet on her head instead. It had giant, aqua-colored eyes; and they were currently gaping at her.

"Button must asks the young mistress for forgiveness because Button cannot follow that order." It bowed at the girl before her. "Button has been assigned to be the young mistress' house-elf since masters found out that the young mistress would be coming home."

Hermione rose an eyebrow. "What'd you mean?"

Button looked up at her young mistress. "Button has been waiting for young mistress for almost seven years."

The brunette was instantly confused. The Zabinis had said that they had purposely kept their distance from her so people would never connect them, so they wouldn't give themselves away, or become attached to her in case of the possibility that the war would've gone in favor of Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Why, then, was the house-elf saying that she'd been assigned as hers for years now? Were the Zabinis planning to rip her away from the Grangers all this time then? Had they lied to her about their true intentions?

"Mistress is crying," whispering shakily, Button was about to start tearing up too as she noticed that the girl's eyes filled with tears and then ran down her cheeks. "Don't cry, Mistress. Button must follow orders. Button is happy that Mistress is home."

Hermione looked down at the house-elf, sniffling as her tears didn't stop. "...I'm not home, Button," she said sincerely, all her hurting emotions in it. "And I'm not your mistress...I don't even know who I am."

Button's huge eyes watered as they looked at the girl sadly, she never really did like to see any of her masters sad, but whatever consolation the house-elf could've given the girl was halted when two soft _knock, knocks_ resounded off the girl's bedroom door. A moment later, after the house-elf headed there to open the door, the real Mistress walked in.

The brunette girl wiped her tears immediately with her hands as Mrs. Zabini marched into the room with a small smile. It was possibly around eight in the morning, but the woman already looked gorgeous and ready to start the day. She was wearing long, black trousers that flowed at the ends, exposing the pointy tips of black heels; a silky white shirt that parted in a v-cut moderately and tastefully underneath an elegant black blazer; and a silver chain was draped around her neck, but if it had a pendant, it wasn't seen as it disappeared into her blouse.

"Good Morning, sweetheart," the woman greeted instantly, coming to a stop a few inches away from the girl. "Did you sleep well?"

Hermione couldn't bring herself to return the woman's smile or answer her question. It would be a bit pointless to even lie to the woman and say that she had slept well, she couldn't see it herself, but she knew her eyes were red from crying, puffy from the lack of sleep, and held purple shades underneath them that proved all of the above correct.

An awkward silence passed through the two, but Mrs. Zabini was quick to not let it extend. Instead, with another small smile thrown at the direction of the girl, she turned on her heels and headed to one of the purple walls of the girl's new bedroom. Silence still loomed for a few more moments as the woman stared at something that Hermione could not see from her spot almost several yards away.

"This portrait is painted in several locations around the house," Mrs. Zabini said in a small voice, her back still facing Hermione. "There's different backgrounds in each of them, but it's still beautiful."

Curiosity killed the cat and the girl let her feet move her towards the dark-haired woman. She stood next to her, and she saw what the woman was gazing at with sad, longing eyes. There was a woman painted in a background of pure elegance and art; she had wavy, shoulder-length black hair, slightly tanned skin that was visible from a pearly-colored dress, and her eyes were a toasted honey. The woman in the portrait looked so much like Mrs. Zabini and was equally as beautiful.

"Sienna Vivaldi was her name," Mrs. Zabini whispered as she still gazed at the portrait.

"Your sister?" asked Hermione quietly.

The woman nodded. "She was killed during the wars in Italy. The De Carlo family, one that the Vivaldis have been feuding with since then the beginning of time, took her hostage; aiming for our family to hand over the control we had over all of _Verona_...My great-grandfather, however, didn't think that Sienna was worth the trade."

"...That's horrible," the girl breathed, still keeping her eyes focused on the still portrait.

Again, Mrs. Zabini nodded, but this time a humorless laugh came out of her mouth. It was almost as if she was thinking back to something, Hermione concluded. "She was just twenty-two when it happened, just barely out of the clutches of our family...I should've asked her to run away with Deon and I when I had the chance..." There was a pause as the woman cleared her throat, her shoulders stiffening and then squaring off. "Sienna was incredibly hard-headed, arrogant, and full of family pride. She was a Vivaldi over mostly anything else...But she was _mia sorella maggiore_ first, she always said. Despite her bad qualities, she had a lot of good ones."

"My mum always says that behind every person with a cold exterior, a passionate love for others exist there too."

Mrs. Zabini glanced away from the portrait of her deceased sister to stare at the brunette. There was more of a sad glint to her honey eyes, but Hermione didn't see it as she kept her focus on the portrait. "Jennifer Granger always did believe the best in people." The girl nodded to that assessment and said nothing. "I put Sienna's portrait here because I'm hoping you two will get along. She's got her stubborn qualities, but she's so full of wisdom."

Hermione had to bite down on her tongue for a second before she told Mrs. Zabini that her effort would go in vain because she wasn't planning on staying long, but she thought it over and killed the comment. Instead, after a long second, she said, "she's beautiful."

"She was," Mrs. Zabini agreed. "I've always assumed that you would look like her for some reason. I took after her, people always said that; maybe you have too."

"I don't think so," Hermione laughed offhandedly, not really paying attention to what she had responded. "I've never been pretty, always just plain."

"You're beautiful now," Mrs. Zabini amended the girl, almost with her first scold. "But I would like to see how you truly look."

A few things happened at once: Hermione blushed at the compliment the elegant woman gave her, she thought that the way she looked was that of what Jennifer Granger had looked in her youth, she felt proud because she always knew that her muggle-mother was beautiful, and then her brown eyes grew wide when Mrs. Zabini had pulled out her wand and pointed it at her face.

"No! Don't!" Hermione shrieked, looking completely appalled. She backed away from the woman like she posed a threat and she was reminded that Button the house-elf was still there when it grabbed one of her hands.

Allegra Zabini lowered her wand immediately. "Forgive me, Hermione, I didn't mean to scare you. I...I just wanted to remove the Glamour Charm I placed on you almost eighteen years ago."

"You don't have a right to!" Hermione yelled at the woman. "You don't have a right to take everything from me! You've already taken my family, don't you dare strip what I have left! This is who I am!"

The woman's honey-colored eyes looked miserable and hurt instantly. "Her...Hermione, I know that it's all been a lot to process, sweetheart, but I'm not taking anything from you. On the contrary, I'm giving everything back to you. I just...I want you to take your rightful place within this family. I want you to be Aria Sienna Zabini, the little girl I gave birth to."

"Well I'm not!" Hermione continued to shout, infuriated tears in her brown eyes. "If you'd wanted that girl you should've raised her yourself and not given her away! You buried Aria Zabini! I'm Hermione Granger!" A broken sob escaped her, shaking her body with misery. "I am not your daughter! _I'm Hermione Granger!_"

The woman looked like she had just been slapped across her dazzling face, Button the house-elf looked horrified with tears in her own eyes, but Hermione didn't stay behind to see what happened next. Instead she ran for it, ran away like if she wasn't the courageous Gryffindor or the girl who had helped defeat Voldemort.

She couldn't let her, she couldn't let the unknown woman take the only thing she had left that could remind her of who she was. If she let the woman remove the charm, if her features became that of a Zabini heir, if her features turned elegant and refined like those of pureblood girls, there was no going back—Hermione Jean Granger would truly be dead then. And she couldn't let that happen.

Not knowing where she was, if she'd left her level, if she was in a new one, if she'd climbed the stairs or not, Hermione opened the first door she saw and went through it. She closed it behind her with a loud bang, putting her palms to cover her face and she sobbed as she sunk down to the floor.

She just wanted to go home. She wanted to be in the muggle world with her muggle parents; she wanted to be texting Harry, both of them sharing jokes about how mundane that act was when considering a few months back they were on the verge of dying; and she wanted to be counting the hours until it was time to go to King's Cross so she could finally see the ones she loved.

She wanted to go back to the world where she belonged, where she knew who she was. And that's what was wrong with this new story: she didn't know where she belonged or who she was. She was nothing and no one.

"—You know, usually people knock when coming into someone's room."

Dropping her hands from her face, Hermione's watery eyes grew wide with surprise when emerald green ones stared casually at her in return. They were the eyes of Blaise Zabini—_of course_. As if everything else wasn't bad enough, she'd gone from being the only child to the sister of a prejudice bastard.

* * *

**AN: Hey! First off, I just want to say thank you to all of you wonderful, gorgeous people that have been reading and reviewing the story. It means so much to me! You are all the greatest!  
Also, I would like to address the fact that some of you find it difficult for Hermione to be all so accepting with the situation, and that's not what I'm trying to portray at all. She's having a difficult time with it all, but the story needs to move along too, you know?  
Anyway, thanks for being awesome! I hope you enjoyed the chapter (:**


	4. Pleasing Blaise

**Lover of the Light**

**Chapter Three: **Pleasing Blaise**  
**

Neither of them knew exactly how long they sat in opposite sides of the room, just looking at each other, enduring a silence pregnant with tension and uneasiness. She could say it felt like it'd been an hour, but her sense of time had stopped working when she was thrust through the doors of the Zabinis mansion. Her ability to do much anything but cry had gone faulty too, so anything coherent or logical just wasn't working for her in that moment. She was never one for an awkward silence, but hell, nothing about the past few hours was anything but.

The boy on the other side looked almost as uncomfortable as she did, or perhaps more considering his situation. Apparently the loud bang in which she had opened and closed the door of the unknown room she marched through had awoken him for he was placed in the middle of a grand bed. He was intertwined into the silk sheets, black like thick and creamy paint, but he was sitting up so he was sort of exposed. His chest was bare, and in the light of the room, his dark skin was more overwhelming. It was a definite factor that made everything worse.

Collecting herself, making sure that there were no more tears wetting her cheeks, Hermione brushed her palms almost aggressively on her face before she stood up weakly from the velvety carpet beneath her. And just as she was about to twist the golden handle of the door she heard the sheets ruffle, the mattress creak, and several loud footsteps.

"Wait."

Hermione didn't turn when she heard the voice. She kept her hand on the handle and her eyes on the black door of the bedroom she accidentally stumbled into.

The boy behind her cleared his throat. "Wait, please." The polite word sounded foreign in the air, Hermione thought to herself. She wondered if she ever even heard a Slytherin or ignorant pureblood use that word if not to mock someone with their smarmy attitude. "I…Don't go, Hermione."

At that, the brunette girl couldn't help herself—she turned around from her route of escape to find all of Blaise Zabini staring at her. She never really ever gave Zabini much attention or even a thought during her past six years in Hogwarts. He was a prejudice bastard like the rest of those purebloods he associate with, yes, and she overheard his rants a few times during the Slug Club, but other than that the boy knew how to keep to his own. But now he was standing in front of her, a few easily crossed yards from her, and she somehow was seeing two versions of the same boy.

He was tall, a few inches shorter than Ronald she concluded, but still surpassing her and most others. He was broad-shouldered, lean, he bore muscles from the year in the Slytherin Quidditch team, and his skin was the same chocolate-milk color as always. His hair was short, black and faded smoothly; even though he had just woken up it was still all in place. His eyes were emerald green, wide, and rimmed with thick lashes. She was certain he looked exactly like Deon Zabini would've at seventeen.

But even as she could see the Zabini patriarch resemblance in him, she couldn't help but also see the version of the boy she was also familiar with. She saw the arrogant, judging, haughty Slytherin who always had a 'Blood Traitor' to spit out at Ron or Ginny. She even remembered him in flashes during the war—obviously not fighting for her side.

So that's the problem, wasn't it? She didn't know what version of Blaise Zabini she was supposed to be looking at. Was she supposed to be seeing him as a Zabini, a boy that was somehow intertwined in her life now? Or was she supposed to be looking at a member of that notorious group of wizards and witches that wanted nothing more than to kill her and all those they deemed unworthy?

"…I didn't honestly think they would convince you to come," he spoke again, breaking that tensed silence in his bedroom. "I expected you to blow up half of London before they ever dragged you here."

Unbeknown to her, Hermione's hands balled into fists. "I'm not here willingly," she answered roughly. "My mother forced me because she thinks she owes it to those people. I disagree."

An indescribable smile tugged at the corner of the boy's mouth. "Of course," he breathed out to himself. "Well, I…erm…I'm glad you're here."

It almost sounded sincere to her ears that she couldn't contain the angry, yet puzzled expression across her features. "I'm not." She didn't have to be nice to him, did she? She still had that respect-your-adults mentality her parents taught her, but Hermione had always been able to defend herself from those her age who were cruel to her. She didn't have to sugar-coat anything for Zabini, especially when he never sugar-coated anything himself.

Blaise did not look insulted, however. "I don't expect you to be," he said instead of a retaliation. There was still that odd smile at the corner of his mouth, an almost awkward one that suggested that an insult was not about to come as he was trying to keep the situation light. "But like I said, I am glad you are. You don't realize that your parents have been waiting for this moment all your life."

She scoffed. "They're not my parents—Richard and Jennifer Granger are."

"Stubborn," he said in a muffle. "See that trait of yours hasn't gone away in the past year I've known nothing about you."

Hermione was feeling a bit sidetracked now. Why was he being so understanding? Why was he standing there with that passive look on his face; like he was actually trying to _talk _to her? And what was this business of not knowing anything about her? Had he seriously been keeping tabs on her before she went on the run with Harry and Ron?

"Why?" She asked in a surprisingly low tone. She went ahead and asked what she really wanted to know; what she really wanted to hear in her favor. "Why did you come into my life now? I was doing perfectly fine—I was _happy_. Why did they have to take that from me?"

Zabini scratched his head, looking away from her as he did so for a moment. The awkwardness shot around the room once again. He really couldn't give her the answers to the questions she had because she already made up her mind about what she wanted the truth to be. As such, he really didn't have any other option but to be blunt with her; because regardless of what he said, she was still not going to hear what she wanted.

"It's quite simple actually," began Blaise. "The war is over, and they saw that it was now safe to bring you back to them. I'm not going to pretend to know every single detail of what happened, Hermione; I didn't even know you existed until the summer after our First Year. You can't imagine my shock: Potter's best friend, my half-sister under disguise. It was a lot to take in for a child."

The brunette crossed her arms over her chest, a frown still creasing her forehead. She was still not hearing anything she wanted, and she still didn't find anything worthy to comment over.

"Look," the boy sighed, "there's a lot that I can't tell you because it's not my place to. But if there's one thing that I can say, it's that they never gave up hope. You can be pissed all you want to, Hermione—you have the right to in the end—but you can't be completely hardheaded not to see their suffering. They gave you up not two hours after you were born. Can you imagine the pain Allegra felt? Or the guilt that was killing our father when he realized what his mistakes cost him? Don't be so blinded by resentment to not see their hurt either. They weren't necessarily having a ball all these years."

Again, Hermione remained silent. She felt a bit childish for being so stubborn, but she just couldn't feel the sympathy the Zabinis wanted from her. They were just strangers telling a story. And were they just strangers whom she happened to stumble across with their tale, she'd probably see reason and give them her sentiments, but they had dragged _her _into this. She just couldn't comprehend why they would take the two people that were the most precious things that she had. Her parents made her up—they were all the good that lived inside of her and what shaped her to be just and fair.

Letting a few minutes pass in silence, the boy not removing his piercing stare from her, she decided to ask a new question that was suddenly pestering her. "It must've been horrible to know your sister was the famous Mudblood, wasn't it?"

Instantly, Blaise narrowed his eyes to a glare. "Don't pretend to know anything about me," he hissed at her. He was definitely not bothering to hide his sudden aggravation. "Don't pretend to know what I felt when your parents told me who you were. You don't have a right to judge."

"I do have a right," she hissed in return too. "You knew you were my brother and all your acquaintances were out to kill me. You were my brother and you knew what I was fighting for! You were my brother and you were equally as prejudiced as all of them! I don't doubt for a second that you would've done away with all those you called Blood Traitors and Mudbloods!"

"Yeah, I would've! I thought they were all scum! But then people with my same beliefs killed my mother and then I knew what real scum was!"

After Blaise's shout Hermione felt like she had been smacked across the face, but not after she had punched the dark-skinned boy across his too. They both stared at one another, him with his foggy glare and she with her outraged, guilty eyes.

A knot formed in her throat, making it hard to swallow as it tightened with pain. Hadn't she always been the advocate of tolerance? Hadn't she believed that every person had light in them too? Hadn't she tried to convince her friends that not everyone was as horrible as they seemed? Hadn't she believed that everyone had their own horrors that gave them the right for redemption?

There he was, Blaise Zabini, and his mother had been ripped away by people who cared not who they killed. He stood there, knowing that he was never going to get his mother back, that his choices had been all the wrong ones. How must he feel, knowing that everything he thought was right had suddenly turned on him and taken the one thing that was vital? Every person needed their mother, even if they were seventeen and on the way to adulthood.

There she was, Hermione Granger, and, yes, they'd stepped on her family-portrait, but they hadn't taken her mother from her. Jennifer Granger was still alive, she was still in the same house, and she would always be there no matter when Hermione went to go look for her. The woman might not be tied to her biologically, but she still was her mum. Nothing would change that.

"...How did you really feel when you knew I was your sister?" She whispered to him, her eyes filled with remorseful tears. "Did you hate me?"

Blaise didn't answer immediately. He breathed in and out of his nose for several moments, his bare chest following along rhythmically. He looked flustered and uncomfortable, angry and yet saddened by what he'd been feeling since the end of his Sixth Year. He was filled with remorse and resentment, but he'd been doing fine hiding it from the world for more than a year.

He had wondered what it would be like the day that he finally had her in front of him, knowing the truth; knowing that they were half-siblings. Obviously it wasn't like he thought it would be. He didn't think there would be grudges, yelling, reproaches of the past, pointed fingers about previous mistakes, or the hole in his chest that was left there after the murder of his mother. Every year that passed since he knew about her, the scenario of there being reluctance was clearly present, but he just never thought it'd be this bad. Realistically, he knew she wasn't going to be jumping for joy when she found out the truth, but he hadn't expected that she hated them this much.

"How do you really feel to know that you are my sister?" He asked in return, holding off on her answer. "Do you hate me?"

She made him relive things he probably didn't want to, he was demanding her to give back before he even dared to respond to anything, and she honestly thought that was fair. "I'm confused," she said in a small voice. "I see two different versions of you, Zabini. But...I don't hate either of them." She played with her fingers for a moment, thinking about his first question. She had to be honest about it, didn't she? "I don't want to be your sister. I don't want to be in this family...I don't belong. But whenever...whenever my dad's family left after they visited, after he was done pretending like his brother's remarks weren't annoying or ignorant, he would always look at me and say, 'You don't choose your family, sweetheart. But you gotta love them.'" She stopped her fidgeting and met the boy's eyes. "Maybe it can be like that for us, eventually."

Blaise almost smiled and snorted at that. He didn't expect anything but the truth from her, even in her curious way to smooth it over. He didn't expect her to be so accepting, and the fact that she hadn't disappeared in the night said a lot to him. "This family has a lot of faults, Hermione," he spoke, "just like all others. But one thing that's always been more important above all is family. I'd be lying if I said that I didn't loathe the fact that I wasn't Deon's only child when I first found out, but that resentment towards you ended the night the school found out you'd been petrified...You were my sister, and you were laying in the Hospital Wing immobile...And I guess Mister Granger is right: you don't choose your family, but you have to love them."

In that second, the snotty Slytherin that she remembered from earlier Hogwarts days was gone. Standing in front of her was a boy who'd made mistakes and was now suddenly a part of her new, twisted, and unwanted life. And it was because of that, because she decided to let the grudge go for _him_, she walked towards him, closing distance, with an intent to shake hands.

"Give them a chance, will you?" He raised a palm in the air, halting the girl before she got closer. "You don't have to love them, Hermione, but just ease their pain. They've been waiting for this for almost eighteen years."

She tried to swallow that knot of emotions stuck in her throat. "...I don't think I've ever pictured you as the caring type, Zabini."

He smirked lightly, not full of arrogance but with a little triumph. He killed the inches separating them, grabbed her hand and led her towards the door. He didn't have to give the details of it now, one day she'd put the pieces together with that brilliant mind of hers and she'd see that the reason why he cared was because of the loss of his mother. He loved the woman so dearly, more than his own life, but he had never showed it to her; never mentioned it once. He didn't want anything to happen to his father or Allegra without them getting to know their daughter, or for Hermione to regret not giving them a chance. Life was tricky, and it had a way of snatching everything away from you—but it also had a way of giving something back.

He had lost his mother in bloodshed, but that same war had not taken his half-sister. Maybe there was something to that, and all he really wanted was for the Zabini family to be whole. He never allowed himself a friend in his previous years in Hogwarts, he just didn't trust people, but he knew that with family it was a little different. He wanted to start this new phase in life, post-war, with wholes and not fragments.

Besides, hadn't there been a mass population that had hope in Hermione? She was a link to the greater good, how would this differ?

After climbing down two levels, Hermione felt her heart pound in her chest when she put two and two together of where Zabini had brought her.

_Knock. Knock._

"I'm not sure about—"

"You don't choose your family, remember?" The boy silenced her, both of them facing a grand door made of marble.

Hermione felt nauseated, even before she heard a distinctive voice allowing them entrance to whatever was behind that door. She hadn't agreed to this, and she most definitely didn't want to do this. In a moment filled with guilt and sympathy she made the mistake of allowing herself to try and get to know Blaise Zabini, but she hadn't been willing to extend the courtesy to the other two members of his family. Yes, she was being difficult, but the wounds were still wide open for her to even consider allowing them to be a part of her.

She was about to rip her hand away from the boy's, about to run back to that room they've damned her with, and she was going to hide there until they allowed her to go back to the Grangers—except she saw honey-colored eyes dropping thick tears. Her conscience was suddenly screaming at her; hurling insults and submerging her with more guilt.

Allegra Zabini was sitting on a black, little bench in front of a glorious vanity set-up, but she was definitely not touching herself up or staring at herself in the mirror. She had her shoulders slumped down, shaking with with muffled sobs, her palms covering her mouth, and her husband was kneeling at her side; staring at her with a broken expression.

Yes, Hermione was definitely swimming in an ocean of guilt. She didn't want to hurt anyone's feelings, to make a grown woman cry, even if she felt like her actions were justified. She couldn't name how many times she said she wanted to be with her muggle-parents, and that wasn't going to change anytime soon, but she _did _feel compassion.

"...Mrs. Zabini?"

The woman stopped completely, like she'd frozen at the sound of the girl's voice. Mister Zabini looked up also, no anger in his gaze but just deep rooted self-hatred in those green eyes of his. It was only but obvious that he blamed himself. Had he not made the mistakes of previous years and his wife could've kept their daughter, they could have raised her, given her and Blaise a proper life—but instead he had damned Allegra to an emptiness for years and the hatred of that daughter.

"I...erm..." Blaise gave Hermione's hand a squeeze, his eyes directed on the floor with uncomfortableness. "I'm sorry," murmured the brunette with a bit of unwillingness. "I was harsh, and I should have never spoken to you the way I did. I'm...I'm aware that you want your daughter back, but...I'm not her."

Blaise winced along with his father, and the woman's eyes dropped more tears.

"Honestly, I don't really know who I am anymore," the girl continued through their reactions, that everlasting knot in her throat making it hard to do so. "I feel like...like I'm not a Granger or a Zabini. I'm _n-nothing_." She stopped for a second after her voice cracked. She didn't want to cry anymore. "I don't want to be here, but...but I'll give you my word that I'll try to at least accept that you're my mother. That's all I can give you right now."

Mrs. Zabini said nothing for a while, no one did in fact. But before Hermione knew it, the woman stood up, making her husband do so too, and she walked steadily and carefully towards her. The closer she got, the more Hermione could see the true reflection of heartbreak and pain in the woman's honey eyes, and it truly did make her feel horrible. And when she finally reached the girl, just a few inches away, Hermione also saw the small flecks of hope glittering like gold in her eyes.

"I'll take anything," Allegra breathed. "And I promise not to push you, Hermione...Just don't...don't..."

"I won't leave," the brunette girl finished; though she felt a piece of her die for saying that she wouldn't. She'd been expecting this thing to blow over by some divine miracle and that she'd be back to muggle London in no time.

Several things happened at once, however: Blaise let go of her hand and stepped back, Mister Zabini let out a sigh of relief, and Mrs. Zabini pulled her into a hug.

Something was going to make Hermione regret this in the end; she was sure of it..

**X **

It took her twenty-seven minutes to find the sitting room.

She'd been in the Zabini mansion for two days now and she still couldn't find her way around it. The day before she had, grudgingly and fakely, let the three members of this new family show her around. It had taken up more than five hours, and they were still on the upper levels of the home, but Mister Zabini had suggested to leave the rest of the tour for another day. That was the night they had their first 'family dinner'. There had been content smiles on the parents, even on Blaise, but Hermione had still been sulking; though she tried not to show it as much as courtesy for the strangers.

The present day was an entirely new one, and when she woke up she still found herself there. With less tears than the ones she shed in the previous collection of hours she'd been there, she got up and had breakfast with Mrs. Zabini and Blaise. The patriarch of the family had been off on a business meeting for his companies and wouldn't be back until dinner—where guests had been invited and expected as well. So after a day of pretending to be interested in whatever it was that Mrs. Zabini had been going on about, she was dismissed and asked to head to her bedroom to start getting ready for the evening; with specific orders to meet up in the small sitting room of the mansion at seven o'clock sharp.

After leaving her bedroom half an hour earlier than planned, getting lost in the upper levels when she realized almost every one of them had a sitting room, she assumed she was in the right one and it was now 6:56 in the night.

The other sitting rooms she stumbled into were far too extravagant and too ballroom-like to be the one that Mrs. Zabini and her step-son had been discussing. They mentioned that they wanted a carefree, almost light-feel surrounding to entertain their guests—and Hermione definitely felt undressed every time she opened the door to the others. This particular sitting room was just right, though she didn't see anything small about it either. (Then again, there wasn't anything just plain about all the rooms she'd seen in the mansion, anyway.)

As she stood in the entrance of the grand doors to the living room, she got a good peripheral view of all of it. The room within itself was the only one she'd seen that was not made of marble. This one was completely covered in fine wood, all in the color of an antique maple. The walls were smooth and shiny, all the wood dented and paneled into detailed and lengthy rectangles; the same pattern repeated on the frames of the open windows that were letting in a night breeze. The floor was made of wood as well, but what was not covered by a fine, beige-colored rug, was made of dark chestnut wood; alike the center tables and the tasteful bookcase pressed against one of the walls.

There were three types of sitting furniture in the room: four dark chestnut-colored chairs with leafy-green cushions, two of which were facing each other, a small table containing a set-up of Wizards Chess in the middle, all next to a window; five light taupe-colored armchairs, one was at the corner of the bookcase, where a small table with bottles of drinks and glasses also nearby, another was by another window, and the other three were forming a half-circle in the center of the sitting room; and finally, there were two beige-colored couches, stripped in a leafy-green color, that were aligned in front of the three armchairs in the center.

And though there were blooming roses and other flowers inside curious vases with odd shapes or detailing, and though there were several painting on the walls, some lovely artworks and other portraits of people related to either Mister or Mrs. Zabini, what Hermione liked about the entire, spacious room were two things. There was a fireplace in the furthest wall that was made up of stones, and it reached high to the ceiling and was arched like a tower. It reminded her of a fireplace that was once in a cabin in the mountains where her parents—the Grangers—had taken her when she was about seven. The other thing she truly liked was the grandfather clock resting on the left side of the stone-made fireplace. It was made of wood too, colored maple. And though there was nothing whimsical about it, it sort of reminded Hermione of Molly Weasley's eccentric clock.

"Word round the paintings is that you got lost—" Jumping up at the voice that startled her, Hermione scowled disapprovingly as Blaise Zabini appeared at her right side; grinning and with his hands in the pockets of his black trousers. "Yet you got here before Allegra and I. You're just determined to be the best as always, aren't you?"

Noticing the the dark-skinned boy was completely made-up, looking refine like everything surrounding them, Hermione continued to scowl because he was teasing her and because she hated to dress-up. "I like being punctual, actually," she told him blankly.

"And because you were slightly scared to get lost, right?" The boy added, still grinning with great smug. It had been two days since Hermione was thrust into their lives, and though she was very much that righteous Gryffindor, he liked to tease her. He found it incredibly amusing to watch her frown, sometimes sputter, but then refrain herself from not being too snappy at him. "I can draw you a map if you'd like. I'm sure you'll have it memorized in five minutes."

The brunette crossed her arms over her chest. "Is it customary for your parents to have dinner with such high expectations?"

"Technically, they're your parents," he corrected her, his grin deflating just a little. He knew she was giving it some effort, but he also knew how hard it was going to be to get to the point when she stopped speaking about her biological parents like they were a disease. "Allegra is my step-mother, remember?" The girl said nothing. "Anyway, you're a female, Hermione. Don't you like dressing up?"

Uncrossing her arms, Hermione sighed loudly as she looked down at herself. Usually, in the Granger household, she was allowed to sit at the dinner table with her pajamas and just lounge about. Dinner was always a time for distressing, catching up about what they'd done throughout the day and the like. But dinner at the Zabini mansion landed Hermione in a dress.

After an hour of just sitting in the grand bed in her new room, allowing herself to read a book in the giant collection that they'd given her, Hermione went from being surprised, a little delighted, and then extremely annoyed when Button, her house-elf, appeared. Button had said that she'd been sent by the Mistress to make sure the young mistress took a bath and then Button was to help her get ready once she was out. So after fifteen minutes of muttering curses under her breath, the house-elf's giant aqua-colored eyes watching her carefully, she went to the shower and started the horrible process.

The house-elf had gotten her bony hands into Hermione's brown, curly mess of a hair and began to apply potions to relax the ringlets. After her hair was in washes of brown waves down her back, Hermione was directed to the enormous walk-in closet; where Button showed her the evening dresses that the Mistress always found appropriate. After another fifteen minutes of arguing with the house-elf, Hermione had reluctantly put on a navy-blue pleated dress that rested a little before the knee. It was sleeveless; the top half was plain; the bottom half was pleated with white polkadots; and there was a red, thin belt cinching the waist.

"I managed to convince Button to forgo the heels," she muttered with another sigh as she clunk the ends of her red ballet flats together like Dorothy of Oz. She looked up at Blaise next, choosing to let go of that thought before she started thinking about the film her muggle-mother took her to watch so many years ago. "I don't really think I'm cut out for this posh life, Zabini. I'm hardly a proper girl while we're at it, too."

"You're more than proper," her half-brother replied. "And you're charming when you're not all stubborn and busy learning about things. You'll do just fine. Besides, don't feel intimidated. Allegra has longed for her daughter all these years, she's just probably itching to get you shopping and doing all that feminine rubbish."

The scowl that had previously been on her face went from being angry to slightly miserable. "I don't like shopping," she continued to mutter carefully; crossing her arms once more. The endless reasons of why this wasn't right just kept piling up."I like reading, going to the theater, camping...I won't ever be the daughter Mrs. Zabini has been longing for."

He frowned at her too now. "Because you don't want to try," he snapped. He was a boy with a thin patience, Hermione was figuring that out the more she spent time with him. "You don't have to be what she wants you to be. She just wants a daughter."

"Then she should've had another," was Hermione's immediate retort. The two half-siblings looked at one another, both clearly stubborn and upset. But before there could be hostility in the air, the girl sighed and decided to kill the tension before it got a lot worse. She didn't know why, but she was finding that it was a little difficult and draining to be fully upset with Blaise. "Anyway," she cleared her throat, stepping inside the sitting room now. "Who exactly is coming over for dinner? More Zabinis?"

Blaise followed pursuit, but just as he was heading to one of the armchairs to toss himself on, opening his mouth to answer her question along the way, Allegra and Deon Zabini marched through the grand doors too.

"Father," the dark-skinned boy greeted with a calmed smile, straightening himself out.

"_Mio figlio_," the man greeted back with his deep voice. He marched over to the boy, embracing him in a quick but tender hug. Their green eyes met, and there was so much in that stare that Hermione couldn't help but to feel a little intrusive. Deon Zabini was Blaise's only parent now, and with such truth, she reckoned that the boy held on to the man with much more fierceness and admiration. The same love that the man had for his son. "_Spero che la giornata è andata bene._"

Blaise nodded. "_E 'andato bene. Allegra e mia sorella hanno mi ha tenuto occupato._"

With whatever it was that the boy had told his father, Hermione started feeling uncomfortable all over again when the man's bright and profound eyes found her. There was an immediate smile on his face, like the one he'd been giving Blaise, but this one also had a bit of relief mixed in it. It made her believe that he was worried that he was going to come back from his business meetings and not find her here. "Hermione," he greeted, but he kept his distance. "I hope your day has been going well."

All three Zabinis were staring at her and she finally knew what peer-pressure was all about. They were eager to hear a positive word come out of her mouth so she had no other option but to oblige to them. "It's been good," she said with a small smile. "I hope your meetings went well."

"Oh, they always go well for him," Mrs. Zabini was the one that responded, smiling beautifully. "He came through the Floo in our sitting room and he was raving about the construction of a new hotel he's working on with his friend."

Blaise made a humming sound. "So that's who's coming to dinner, then? The plan to construct the hotel in the island of Hydra is already a certain thing. Surely there's no need to wine and dine your friend any longer."

Hermione, nor Mister Zabini apparently, missed the almost agitated glint to the boy's eyes. However, the boy's father kept his expression neutral, though his gaze was a little narrowed now. "It's not all business matters, Blaise," the man replied firmly. "My business partner and his family are also friends to us."

"But not friends to others," Blaise retorted.

"You doubt me?"

There was a hurt to the man's question, almost an outrage underlining it too, that the boy felt almost guilty. He trusted his father and his judgement, and he knew that whatever it was that his father was trying to do, it was long overdue anyway. It was something that was going to happen regardless, whether it be that night or in a month.

Curious as always, Hermione bothered not to feel ashamed of wanting to know what was going on between Blaise and his father. Whatever it was, it was clearly a sensitive issue because both Zabini men had looked defiant and the woman had let a glimpse of worry flicker across her face before she masked her beautiful features back to their neutral state. And like Fate has a way of being either cunning or giving, depending on which way people looked at it, that fireplace that Hermione had found a liking to roared and its flames began to burn green.

Three seconds passed, and with every second an individual person came out of the glittering flames. Each one had come out dusting themselves from the soot of the fireplace automatically and casually, and each one had halted; looking frozen as they found their hosts staring at them.

_Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock._

Blonde hair—one golden and two almost white.

_Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock._

Three pairs of eyes—one blue like cloudless, day-skies and the other two grey like molten metal.

_Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock._

Three faces—two taken aback and confused, and the other hesitant.

_Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock._

Three people—all enemies.

Once that grandfather clock beside the fireplace signaled 7:08 in the evening, Hermione turned to the Zabini patriarch without waiting for another minute to pass. "The _Malfoys_?!" She was taken aback and confused herself. "Are you insane?! You're expecting me to sit down and have dinner with the Malfoys!"

Mister Zabini looked at his wife for a second, but the woman was not giving a sign of anything as she glanced at the floor; looking almost uncomfortable. "They're friends to us." The man blinked up at his long-lost daughter. "They've been our friends for years."

"Well, your friends tried to kill me!" This was not happening, this was not happening. She was overall hesitant and against being around the Zabinis, and now they decided to bring the Malfoys into the equation as well? How the _hell _were they expecting her to handle this? Clearly they had to have known about the bad blood between them—especially the one that they thought she had. "I just finished fighting a war against them!"

"Hermione—"

"I can't believe this!" The brunette hissed to no one in particular, throwing her arms up in the air in aggravation; the way she'd seen Harry do so many times when he was at the breaking-point.

"Hermione, listen—"

"I want to go home." And there it was, the same chant that she'd been spewing since the moment they dragged her here. She looked at Mister and Mrs. Zabini determinedly, forgetting all about Blaise and his attempts to say something that she kept cutting across. "Take me back to my parents. This cannot work, I'm sorry. You may have your amicable history with these people, but I have another one far different. And it's not a pleasant one."

All three Zabinis lost whatever flecks of contentment they had been feeling for the past two days. The woman looked broken and miserable again, the man self-loathing, guilty and frustrated, and the boy looked annoyed and just as frustrated as his father. But none of their feelings really crossed her at that moment, however. She'd been unwillingly willing to get to know the Zabinis, but she drew a line at the family that had looked at her as nothing but dirt underneath their shoes.

"Don't you start saying that again." Blaise marched up to her, frowning. "You said you were going to give this a chance, remember? You cannot walk away every time there's something that you don't like. Because believe me, Hermione, this family is filled with things that you're not going to find enjoyable. You just have to give it a chance."

"A chance?" She repeated with deep bewilderment. "They tried to _kill _me, Blaise!"

"They didn't know the truth, Hermione," Mister Zabini added.

The brunette shot the man a deadly glare; silencing him with it. She turned back to her half-brother and kept her determination. "Look, Blaise, you just don't—"

"I know," the boy interrupted her. "I know they tried to kill you, but as rubbish as it sounds, they really didn't know. It doesn't justify anything, but do you really think Father would put you in harm purposely? This is a secret that's been hidden for almost eighteen years, Hermione. They know about you."

Hermione crossed her arms, her lips pressed into a tight line. She didn't know what to say at the given moment. And because she didn't, because of her long second of silence, Mister Zabini took his chance to speak again.

"There's a lot that you don't know and that you may refuse to listen to," he began, marching deeper into the sitting room made of complete wood. "But in the end, I'm at fault and as guilty for letting the Malfoys persecute you when they did as they are. I didn't let Allegra or Blaise tell a soul about who you really were," he still kept his eyes on the brunette, "nor did I confess to my old friend about it either. You were at greater risk then, you had already defined yourself as Harry Potter's friend, Hermione. Can you imagine the price your head would've had if the world knew the truth? I couldn't risk it. And ultimately, I couldn't risk Allegra or Blaise if the truth got out either. The Dark Lord was never forgiving."

Though they thought her hard-headed, Hermione had been indeed listening to Mister Zabini's words carefully to try and get some understanding from them. She didn't really know how to process them, though. How was she supposed to feel knowing that the man who was supposed to be her biological father allowed people to go after her like she was the prey? And how was she even supposed to react to the fact that he'd done it to protect her, in some odd way, and his wife and son from Voldemort's wrath? If he had tried to spare her, he would've sent his wife and son to execution...

No wonder the man lived with so much self-hate.

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest, still frowning as she turned to look at where Mister Zabini stood with the blonde family. "Do they know who I am?" She asked with gritted teeth.

Mister Zabini placed a hand on Lucius Malfoy's shoulder. "Lucius has known since after you fled Malfoy Manor during the war." The girl stiffened in remembrance, as well as everyone else in the room. Every person was aware of what happened to her there; in front of the once prestigious family. "Like I said, there's things you don't know, Hermione, and I do hope you decide to listen to them. There's more than what you think happened. And Blaise is right, I would never put you in danger."

"...And his family?" Hermione added, her back still tensed and her anger and disgust just building higher and higher.

Making movement for the first time, Allegra gracefully walked to Hermione's side. She placed a gentle hand at the small of her back, deciding to ignore that the latter froze even more at the gesture, and she directed a collected smile at the blonde woman in the room. "Narcissa, I'm sure you're wise enough to put two and two together. You knew our secret from the start, just like your husband."

Mrs. Malfoy had no longer looked puzzled—she indeed placed everything together and figured out why Miss Granger had been in the Zabini mansion entirely. She nodded carefully back at her old friend. "It explains a lot as well." And by that she meant the problems that had developed between the two families since the summer the Death Eaters appeared at the Qudditch World Cup. It explained so many things, but Narcissa Malfoy was also smart enough not to bring any of it up; they were barely getting back to their old friendships and connections in a slow pace.

Hermione exhaled, still shaking her head at the entire situation. There was just too much to handle and too much that was still kept a secret. And honestly, it was all too tough to even try and comprehend. She couldn't find a sensible side to any of it. "How close of friends are they?" She asked another one of her questions, looking away from Mrs. Zabini to look back at her husband.

"Lucius was the friend that warned me the Dark Lord was coming after me so many years ago," the man replied. And then, after Hermione frowned deeper, he just let a dim, sheepish smile lift the corners of his mouth. "And...Lucius and Narcissa were named your Godparents before we gave you up to the Grangers."

For the first time in that entire interaction, Hermione and Draco Malfoy met eye to eye. He had been the only one in his family who still looked thoroughly confused, and like her, he appeared not to know what the hell was going on. But after Mister Zabini had finished his comment, both looked completely appalled.

With a loud groan and stomp, Hermione turned on her heels and exited the sitting room. She'd told Blaise she wasn't a proper girl, anyway.

**X **

Dinner had happened as planned, and all because of Blaise. The boy was the one who decided to go fetch his sibling, promising that he would come back with her and that everyone should proceed to the dining room. Though the Malfoys were clearly skeptical that the girl would allow to be seated in the same table as them, Mister Zabini and his wife had a lot more faith in Blaise's capacity to get anyone to do anything he wanted. He was a very manipulative boy, and not in a direct way either; he made you do things for him without realizing it. Some people called it natural charm, but the Zabinis were well aware of the boy's cunning abilities.

As such, Hermione hadn't stood a chance when her half-brother found her lost in one of the five study rooms in the mansion. He found her sitting on a couch, tucked into a corner with her knees brought up to her chest and her forehead plastered on her kneecaps. To his relief, and slight surprise, he hadn't found her crying in deep rage or helplessness; she'd just appeared to be trying to process everything. He sat at the other end, silence ringing for a few minutes before he reminded her that she'd promised to give it a shot. He told her he knew it wasn't easy, but there was so much to learn still. And that had seemed to smooth her over—of course, his almost puppy-dog eyes helped too.

Dinner had mostly been an awkward and silent affair, except for the few times the adults spoke to one another. And once the final course had been served and hurriedly finished, the two families looked almost pleased to be able to separate and find some sense of comfort away from all the tension. Hermione had assumed that had been the cue for the Malfoys to depart, but she was greatly mistaken when Blaise had suggested a game of Wizard's Chess against the only Malfoy heir, Hermione keeping score for them while the adults supposedly would talk business.

So there she was, back in that wood-made sitting room, and sitting on one of the beige-colored couches. She was glaring at the two boys in the room with her, a quill and small notebook in her possession as she was supposed to be tracking their third game of the night.

"Checkmate." Grinning wildly as his queen butchered his opponent's king, Blaise leaned back against the chestnut-colored chair he was sitting on. "I believe you owe me two-hundred and ten galleons with three sickles now. You should really quit the game, Malfoy. I'll end up taking all of sock-drawer money at this rate."

Since he arrived by Floo to the Zabinis home, Draco Malfoy's pale complexion had only gone from confused to blank in the almost three hours he'd been there. That same expression of nothingness hadn't changed, not even as Blaise mocked him.

"Maybe we can up the wages, that way if we play every day for a year, I can take all of your inheritance."

Though Blaise continued to grin through the tension, Malfoy did not let up. He crossed his arms over his chest, wrinkling the fine material of his black blazer, and continued to not say anything. He also kept those cold grey eyes only focused on his fellow Slytherin.

"Hermione," Blaise turned from the blonde to the girl a few feet from them, "how about I take score now? You can try and win me more of Malfoy's money. He's rubbish at Wizard's Chess so it'll be easy."

The girl held on to the thin spine of the quill tightly, feeling it bend with the pressure of her fingers. She pressed the tip of it onto the notebook, making a piercing, little hole on the blank page as she scowled at Blaise. "I'm not playing games with Malfoy,"she spat the surname like it was the foulest curse word in the planet. "And I'm done being in this confined space with him."

She was about to get up when Blaise stood quicker, startling her by his height and the deep look in his eyes. "Lighten up a tiny bit, will you? We're having a pleasant time."

Hermione snorted loudly. "Please! I'm nauseated just knowing his near, and he doesn't look as charmed to be so close to me either. You're the only one having a 'pleasant' time, Blaise, by taking his money. I personally would rather be playing dress-up with Button than to spend one more damn second in here."

"Don't leave," Blaise said, no tone of an order or even a plead. He just looked at the brunette with determination and a small frown as he continued to stand with his booming height in front of her; almost caging her into the corner of the couch. "Look, I know it all seems mental to you, but I've told you that you simply can't quit every time something you don't like happens. You promised you'd give it a chance."

"I actually don't remember promising anything," retorted Hermione. "And frankly, Zabini, anything else you have to say in their defense doesn't matter to me. If anything, I'd allow the chance for you and your parents, not for them. I know what they've done. That's not going to change."

The dark-skinned boy crossed his arms. "Didn't you eat up all that spewing Dumbledore did about unity and forgiveness?"

Hermione could taste frustration at the tip of her tongue. And because she did, she didn't use her logical and just mind to even double-check the next words that came out of her mouth that were more on the side of a lie than the truth. "Should it matter now? It clearly didn't when Malfoy disarmed Dumbledore and brought upon his death without thinking twice about it."

And just like that, like at the snap of the fingers, Draco Malfoy tore himself away from his seat and pushed Zabini several steps backward. He was so close to Hermione that she could see how exactly pale his skin was, the hushed whisper of stubble on his chin, and the deep-rooted fury in those silver eyes of his. "You don't know fucking anything, Granger!"

She knew she should've let it go, not have responded because she knew what she said was not entirely the truth. Harry had told Ron and her that Malfoy had lowered his wand, that Malfoy was shaking and looked thoroughly hesitant, that Malfoy had been threatened and forced, and Hermione remembered thinking at the time that Draco Malfoy had just been a lost cause without a chance. But even remembering that, she couldn't help her defense-mechanism that ignited every time the blonde was around.

"I know what everyone else knows!" She stood now too, not letting him think that because he was almost an entire foot taller than her that he intimidated her. "You're a coward! You're vile, pathetic, and a prejudiced git!" She shoved him back a step. "And I detest you!"

She had kept her finger almost drilling into his chest and he slapped it down. "Retract your words before I make you regret them, Granger."

"You don't scare me!" She retaliated. "This is my house, and I certainly don't listen to you! Get out!"

"And I don't listen to insufferable witches like you!" Malfoy snapped back. "You don't know anything about me, so I suggest you watch your mouth before another word comes out of it about me! I won't hesitate to curse you!"

She should've quit, but it wasn't like her to let a Slytherin get the best of her at that point. "Why do it yourself, Malfoy? Go fetch another relative and watch them torture me from a distance!"

The tension multiplied by the hundreds and exploded all around the sitting room with intense heat. It felt like someone had started an uncontrolled fire, setting everything aflame, and feeling it melt and burn millimeter by millimeter. It was excruciating.

"Don't pretend to know—"

"_Silencio_!" Deciding that it had been enough of getting-things-off-their-chest time, Blaise stepped forward and made himself known as the shout of his enchantment echoed around the room after it interrupted whatever Malfoy had been about to say.

Blaise wedged his way in the middle of the Slytherin and the Gryffindor, pushing them both towards different sides. He could see their fury, resentment, and flickers of hate for one another. And that honestly didn't surprise him, but he couldn't say enough that there was so much more to every story than what one person could guess. Did they have a right to feel the way they did? Yes, absolutely. But Blaise had learned a tough lesson through the war—and not just the obvious ones that the Light Side had been trying to teach for ages.

Life was short and easily taken away without a second blink or thought. Grudges, wars, and hatred got in the way of living, got in the way of loving and enjoying most aspects of life, and Blaise was somewhat accepting that he'd learned that from such a young age. It encouraged him to live the life he'd always wanted—a tweaked, changed, and re-evaluated life than what he'd imagined for himself since he was thirteen and high on Pureblood aspirations. And because he'd gotten the chance of an unwanted redemption, Blaise was selfish and self-centered enough to try and fit the remaining pieces of his life together for his own accommodation. And he did not care who felt uncomfortable or who was hesitant along the way.

Still keeping his wand tightly in his hold, the enchantment still cast, Blaise turned his emerald eyes to the girl first. "You," he began with no trace of patience, "I understand that we're asking for too much from your part. You've been bombarded by one revelation after another, and I'm being completely blunt when I say they won't stop coming. But this is your family, whether you like it or not." The girl opened her mouth, moved it, but nothing was heard so the boy continued. "I know what the Malfoys have done to you and your loved ones, Hermione, but don't be a hypocrite. You don't know their story, don't judge them without knowing absolutely everything. At least try to be the advocate of your voiced beliefs and just accept the fact that some stories are worth listening to for a re-evaluation of that person."

Hermione's eyes grew outraged at his last sentence.

"Once again," continued Blaise, not moved by his half-sibling's aghast and deeply offended gaze, "you're a Zabini, Hermione. Our father would not allow the Malfoys anywhere near the wards of this house if he thought them a threat."

She glared, her mouth back into a tight line as she watched the dark-skinned boy turn to the blonde one.

"And you, Malfoy, what did you expect? You _know _what you've done, what your family has done—how do you expect anyone you fought against to react?" Instantly, Blaise put up his free hand to halt his fellow Slytherin when the latter glared angrily. "You and I, we've been amending our friendship for almost a year now. Experiences of war and bloodshed tie us together, Malfoy. And because they do, we also know more than we would like about one another. You asked for something one day, do you remember?"

Malfoy squared off his jaw, still glaring. But there was a flicker of recognition and resentment in his silvery gaze that neither Hermione or Blaise missed.

"And I told you I'd find a way to make it happen, did I not?" Zabini gave the smallest nod towards Hermione that she didn't know if it had happened at all or if it'd been a twitch. "Don't waste that chance because we both know it won't present itself again."

Concluding with their individual lectures, Blaise glanced between the two now. "All I'm asking from the pair of you is for some damn effort. It's not like I'm asking for you two be best friends or to get married—" Hermione let out a mute snort and Malfoy narrowed his eyes in distaste. "As a friend and as a brother, I'm asking for cooperation. Nothing more."

Silence. Not a hint of a muted rant or would-be shouts of rebellion.

"Good, then." With a satisfied leered, Zabini waved his wand and ended the enchantment and gave them their voices back.

"—Twitchy ferret."

"—Bucktooth bookworm."

Blaise sighed, shaking his head and scoffed. "...Children."

* * *

**AN: Dun, dun, dun! **

**Things are getting interesting, am I right? (;  
**

**Anyway, though I speak SOME Italian, I'm not that good. Words on top are courtesy of Google Translate so if something is off, I'm sorry. Secondly, I don't know how to play Chess so if I said something wrong again, I'm sorry once more.  
**

**Enjoy! :D  
**

.


	5. Past Meet the Present

**Lover of the Light**

**Chapter Four: **Past Meet the Present**  
**

September 1st had arrived too slowly that year, just like he always remembered it. Though he wasn't looking for an escape, for the highlight of the day that he had to be dropped off at King's Cross Station to finally leave Privet Drive, making his way hurriedly through the people, hoping to make the seconds fly so he could find those he called best friends, Harry Potter found that the atmosphere was still thick with worry and conflict.

It had been a few weeks since the final battle between Light and Dark, and the people had begun to try and put the pieces of their life together again, but there was still a gaping hole among them; among everyone. There were fathers; mothers; sisters; brothers; friends; and other loved ones missing, making their lack of presence weigh down on the society that had lost them. There was a sense of almost calm in the air, that was definite, but no one paid any attention to it because their souls were filled with grief. They were looking for peace, of course, but after such bloodshed there was bound to be irreversible consequences.

"Good turn out."

He didn't know exactly what was supposed to happen after the war. He had never really had a chance to think about what happens after it all came to an end, all he was ever concentrated on was ending Voldemort before he ended him. He's job had been to fight for something greater, for something made up of justice and love; all while experiencing loss, after loss, after loss. He'd known there was a good chance that he wouldn't have made it out alive, it was in the Prophecy after all, so planning a future wasn't in his immediate planning back then.

"It's calm, is it not?"

It had been a little over three months since the final battle took place, three months with the future open and blank before him. His present days had been between trying to assist to rebuild the castle, which McGonagall had forbidden, declining the offer to get right into the Auror Department, all because people wanted him to finish his education, and just breathing and avoiding the obvious.

He's natural mechanism was to push people away, and he was, but this time there wasn't anger and frustration to smooth over and conquer over his conscience. His conscience was most definitely alive and awake, and it was pulling him in two different directions. One side wanted him to feel incredibly guilty, to flee and hide and never be seen again because of the destruction he'd caused. Yet the other side, with doses of guilt, was almost selfish; it _demanded _a chance at a proper life.

"There's a bit too much security here. Personally, I think Kingsley might have exaggerated a bit. Don't you think Percy?"

Blinking away from his own thoughts for a moment, Harry finally turned to Arthur Weasley, who'd been talking since the moment they crossed the barrier onto the platform. He was standing next to his wife—who'd grown almost too quiet these days—an arm wrapped around her shoulders in that ever-constant comforting way, and there was a forced smile stretching on his kind face. He looked at those around him, and Harry couldn't miss the fact that he was the only one ever trying to gather the clutter his family was left in and fix them with what was left.

But there were consequences, damaging ones, and it had reached the Weasley family like it had the rest of the world. Percy was there with them, badge on his robes indicating his association with the Ministry, but his pompous attitude and authoritative look was gone from his persona. He just stood there, like he was trying to blend with the background and never be seen. There was remorse living and taking over his brown eyes too, holding him captive in a way with all the regrets that he bore.

George was also there, practically forced out of his flat above the shop by Mrs. Weasley to accompany them to say goodbye to his siblings. The perfect excuse to rip him away from haunting memories and reflective mirrors. And because of that, Harry found that George was one of the two toughest Weasleys to look at. Just one glimpse of him and one was instantly filled with grief, despair, misery, and unsettling waves of sympathy. He wasn't even a man of almost twenty, he was just the shell of what was supposed to be.

Ron was beside Harry, standing loyally next to his best friend like always, but something had been off. The redhead had been growing more aggravated, more intense, and almost unhinged. Nothing really changed on the outside, he still talked to Harry, though the jokes were by far very limited, and he acted at times like his regular self. But it was in the night, where both shared his bedroom at the Burrow, that Harry saw his best friend slowly withering away. It was almost as if he was starting to hide within himself.

"The weather's perfect—" Startling him, like a wave of energy had suddenly bounced off his body and echoed around everywhere, Harry's entire senses were filled with Ginny Weasley. "I'm actually quite looking forward to this year."

Ginny Weasley was the side of his conscience which he considered selfish. He had been trying to stomp on that since the moment that he saw Fred Weasley die, because he knew that there was going to be a hole in her chest that was all his fault, but it was a struggling battle. He hadn't a clue what the future was supposed to be like, but all he knew was that he wanted her—that he _needed _her.

She was composed and hopeful, just like her father. Sometimes her gaze would flicker with sadness, but her beautiful eyes mostly always shone brightly; so filled with life and optimism for a brighter tomorrow. She was the epitome of a fighter; of a survivor. And if there was anything that the world needed, it was what she had to give.

"I'm really glad that the Board of Governors allowed for last year's Sixth Years to graduate this term," she continued. "Aren't you, Harry? I get to graduate with all of you."

Harry swallowed as his insides seemed to become little sources of electricity. "Yeah," he breathed in return, "should be great."

The redhead girl smiled lovingly at him for a moment before turning to her parents. "Though McGonagall approved of it, I just know she's going to demand the most of former Sixth and Seventh Years. The exams..."

As her voice became buzzing sounds of melodic music, Harry knew in that very moment that he was going to be selfish. He loved Ginny with all that he had. And during the process of finding the horcruxes to destroy Voldemort, he thought back to the moment that he _did _plan something with his future—it had involved her and forever.

Just as the wind blew among the Weasleys and the Chosen One, Ginny's voice filling their ears with hints of hope and faith, a page of the _Daily Prophet _floated away from underneath Ron Weasley's shoe when he took a step back to allow a First Year and his mother to pass by. The page flew in the soon to be autumn wind, passing overhead many people, smacked or dodged by others who were too tall, and it made it so many yards down.

After the feeling of apparition wore off and his ears weren't buzzing, a dark-skinned boy was about to turn the other distinctive sounds of apparition when he was blinded and smacked over the face with something.

"Oi!" Struggling for a moment as the wind became a mocking enemy for a few seconds, Blaise Zabini clawed whatever was obscuring his vision off his handsome face. And when his emerald eyes saw fog, figures of people, smoke, and the backside of the Hogwarts Express, he frowned at the offending object. "Hmm, look here, Sister. You're still in the front page of the Prophet."

Yanking her hand away from that of Allegra Zabini's, Hermione grew completely paranoid and nervous that there would be any onlookers or eavesdroppers. She didn't even hear whatever else came out of Blaise's mouth after the word sister; she just scouted the scene and almost shrank into herself.

Yesterday night, she had declined the offer that Zabinis had made about seeing her and Blaise off at Platform 9¾ during their usual, unwilling dinners. She had tried to smooth over her rejection by simply stating that her and Blaise were of age, and as such, the two could use side-long apparition to the train station without them having to worry; especially since she knew that Mister Zabini was a very busy man. But of course, like it had been in the nature of the Zabinis to squash her dreams, the patriarch of the family had waved it away, stating that when it came to seeing his children off, the businesses could wait.

They had given her such hopeful smiles that she felt guilt swim in her insides for a moment that she considered putting off the idea of convincing them that she was perfectly fine to make it to the platform on her own. Well, that moment to cave in had been squashed and set on fire when Mister Zabini had also added that he'd already spoke to Lucius Malfoy and both men, with their wives, weren't going to miss watching their children board the Hogwarts Express for one last time. (After that, she'd excused herself and gone to her new bedroom to throw a tantrum that scared Button the house-elf.)

During the short months post-war that she'd had as a Granger, Hermione had known all about the trials held for the entire Malfoy family. Though she really couldn't feel other than pity for them during those times, before she found out they were too intertwined into her life than what she'd like, Harry had asked her and Ron to testify in favor of the Malfoys. And since she'd known and seen that the family was practically held captive in their own home, that the youngest of them did not give them away to the deranged Bellatrix Lestrange when he could've, Hermione hadn't seen the damage of doing so then. But though she thought that maybe a clean slate would help the family regroup themselves, hopefully finding something new after the war, she knew perfectly well that the rest of the Wizardrying World wouldn't be as nice or somewhat understanding.

Lucius Malfoy's wand had been confiscated, and would be for another five years, when he served two months in Azkaban the moment Aurors started rounding up the Death Eaters that survived. As punishment after his release, he'd been given mandatory counseling meetings with a private Healer and mandatory Legilimency sessions with the Head Auror to monitor him. And from what Hermione knew, the Ministry was still reviewing a case to place the man in house-arrest for the next ten years.

His wife and son had their wands confiscated as well, but that had only lasted a month, she'd known as well. Their magic would be carefully watched the rest of their lives, community service for two years, and both had to serve Legilimency sessions too.

And though they had been somewhat cleared of all charges, Hermione knew perfectly well that wherever it was that that family went, attention and trouble followed. People tended to believe that once evil, always evil. And that was exactly what she was trying to avoid at the precise moment.

"'_Golden Trio Heads to Hogwarts'_," read Blaise from the page of the _Daily Prophet_ that had smacked him across the face earlier. "The rest of the newspaper is missing, but I heard that Rita Skeeter wrote the article about you three. I bet it's as lovely as always, considering how much she loves you, Hermione."

The brunette frowned at the dark-skinned boy and his teasing eyes once she thought the coast was semi-clear. She crossed her arms over her chest. "She wouldn't dare to write any blasphemies if she values her career."

"Because the Brightest Witch of the Age will use all her War Heroine influence to make sure she never writes for another publishing company again?" Blaise continued to tease.

Hermione kept her frown. And before the two half-siblings could argue, which would be a sight to see for him, Deon Zabini cleared his throat; demanding attention. "Behave, Blaise."

His son smirked, not dropping his joking-side. "Imagine the field day Skeeter would have if she were ever to find out that Hermione Granger was actually a Zabini." Standing a few feet from him, Blaise cast a look at Draco Malfoy that suggested mischief. "We can even tell her that you and Hermione are God-siblings, Malfoy It'll be a complete riot."

"I will kill you!" Hermione snapped at her half-brother. "Both of you." And then she turned that deadly glare to the blonde boy that stood with his blank-faced parents.

"We agreed to take this slowly." Though Mrs. Zabini was speaking to her stepson, she put a settling hand on her daughter's shoulder to ease her and her panic. "When we decide it's time to reveal our secret to the public, we're going to handle it carefully. We're not going to thrust this upon everyone else like we did to you." Her honey-colored eyes looked at Hermione now, so serene. "We'll give you time to adjust before we claim you as our own before the world."

Hermione swallowed uneasily, filled with anxiety that she couldn't even fake a smile to give to the woman. She was not ready to be a Zabini in private, let alone in front of so many others. She could protest and stomp her foot, run and hide, but in the end it was the Zabinis secret; they could expose it without her consent and it was still going to follow her like a shadow.

It wasn't easy for her to admit defeat, especially since the Zabinis were holding on to the winning-card to even get a chance to redeem herself and turn everything around in her favor. She was stuck, and with those damn, ignorant, inhumane Pureblood laws, she had to stick by the family for three years before she could flee.

"Hermione," ending the silence that Hermione had hoped would last forever among them, Mister Zabini spoke once more. "You're welcomed to tell your friends about this. We've already told McGonagall because we had to arrange legal rights from the Grangers to us. As such, I think it'd be beneficial for you to grow more accustomed if you let people know on your own accord."

The girl felt sadness seep into her chest. The Grangers no longer had legal rights to her? It was like the past eighteen years of their work in raising her had been erased in a blink of an eye. How could a damn scrap of paper or legal notions take that from them? They were her parents, blood be damned.

"...I have to pace myself considering all that's happened," she mumbled, looking down at her shoes as she felt more dread. "But, yeah...I've to let Ron and Harry know."

"I'm sure it'll be fine," Mister Zabini added in dismiss when the Hogwarts Express started roaring in its tracks. Steam was flowing out of it and adding to the fog in the platform, people were hurrying to the train, and goodbyes were being called out. It was time for departure.

There were goodbyes among the Zabini family, the parents telling the two teenagers to have a wonderful term and to take the time to really bond. Hermione wanted to roll her eyes, but she refrained to a blank state as she let Mister and Mrs. Zabini embrace her in farewell.

She'd taken a strong step to hurry to the train's entrance, but a hand grabbed her and kept her in her spot. She turned as saw that Blaise had been waiting for the Malfoys to finish up their own hushed up goodbyes amongst themselves. And once Narcissa Malfoy carefully caressed one of her son's cheeks, the blonde Slytherin turned with an impassive expression towards the two new siblings.

"Goodluck," Hermione heard coming from Lucius Malfoy once Blaise started pulling her away to make their way to the train.

**X**

It had been an hour since the Hogwarts Express moved along the tracks and started heading for Hogwarts.

Everything was almost the same, just like she remembered every train ride since the first one she ever took. Though there wasn't any toads missing, Dementors, or uproar about whether or whether not Voldemort had actually come back, most of the train was filled with chatter and jokes. It was almost like the mourning and pain was left back home and the students took it upon themselves to return to a time when going to Hogwarts was filled with joy and enthusiasm.

On any other occasion, it would've filled her up with happiness knowing that unity did exist and that the great fight had definitely been worth it. It would've made her feel so much peace knowing that their society was definitely filled with hope and fight; that there were fellow witches and wizards ready to move on and create a more promising tomorrow.

She would've felt all that if it hadn't been for the fact that she'd been hiding in a corner of one of the aisles of the train; away from any watchful eye. She'd been there for over forty-minutes, after she'd ditched Blaise and Malfoy, and calculated everything there was to think through. All of it had to be carefully thought through so the outcome would be more accepting and gentle when approached.

"Screw it," she muttered under her breath to herself. With a deep inhale, she kicked off from the corner, turned it, and went straight to the entrance of the first compartment seen.

Though she was logical and always prepared, there was nothing that careful planning was going to do for her. She knew her loved ones so well after all. And if kept in the darkness too long or spoken to like if they were children, it would all end up being a disaster. There was no other way to go but straightforward and with a lot of determination. After all, there could be worse things to reveal than her suddenly being a Pureblood.

With a deep breath, and a shaky hand, Hermione reached for the handle of the compartment door and slid it open.

"...All I'm saying is that you're rubbish at Wizard's Chess, Harry."

"Am not. If you see what I did just there, you'd realize that I let you—_Hermione_!" Whatever it was that Harry was about to get himself into with Ginny Weasley, he was spared from the redhead's outrage for such suggestion when he noticed the brunette standing by the compartment door. His green eyes lit up greatly, sparkling with joy and relief when they found her brown ones.

Turning immediately too, Ginny smiled largely and truly at the presence of the older girl. And before Harry could even get up from his seat, she pushed him down and made her way first to the other girl. "Oi!" But instead of a hug that could've been expected, Hermione received a slap on the chest before any embrace could be shared. "Where were you? You had us worried!"

Hermione didn't say anything, especially since Harry rose up and pulled the redheaded girl away to get himself a hug too. She remembered every single time she embraced him, but she never remembered him clutching her so hard and happily before. She could feel his grin when he squeezed her, all his love and appreciation there, but all she could do was stand there with her arms limp at her side.

And sensing her hesitation, Harry pulled back, his hands on her arms, and he raised an eyebrow at her. "Hermione? What is it?"

From his seat, on the lonesome left side of the compartment, Ron hadn't moved or given an attempt to do so when Hermione appeared. He'd been the first one to see her, and he'd been the first one to lock eyes with her before Harry and his sister stopped their game of chess. They had stared at one another, but nothing but indifference had escaped from him.

Blinking away from the redhead boy, Hermione gave a glistening glance at her other best friend. There was sadness and panic in her brown eyes, but there was also fear that she couldn't ease. What if it didn't go as smoothly? What if she gave them too much credit at the moment? So much had happened since the war and all of them would need years to heal before their compassion and understanding could restore itself to the fullest.

"Hermione?" Ginny looked at the brunette cautiously too.

But before they could ask again, Hermione mustered her courage and sighed loudly. She had to do this, they deserved the truth. "I...I need to talk to you lot." She closed the door behind her after gesturing for them to take their seats.

Ironically, Ginny and Harry sat right next to Ron; all three of them lined up before her. With a shake to her head, she marched to the open compartment bench and sat herself down. Her fingers were shaking with nervousness, but before she let them win over her determination, she said, "I received some...altering news four days ago." She took another deep breath, this one to hold herself together because she felt tears about to sting her eyes. "My mum...My mum told me that I was adopted."

Two expressions of deep bewilderment and one that almost looked like it was about to show just as much surprise as the others.

"Adopted is not even the right term," she added in a whisper, continuing to explain. "I was given away to them...My birth parents came to my house that night to...get me. They decided since the war was over that it was an opportune moment to tell me the truth; so they could take me with them."

"Wait," Ginny cut across. "Your...Wait." She paused again, thoroughly confused. "So, these people, your birth parents, they're wizards?"

Hermione nodded solemnly. "My birth mother gave me away two hours after I was born, so the Grangers could take care of me; so they say. She used to be friends with my muggle mother before I was even born, and when my birth father started being hunted down by Death Eaters...They just didn't want me to grow up with—Ah! Everything's just not right!" She shouted at herself, cutting across the explanation she was trying to give her friends. No matter what way she put it, the truth was still the truth.

"My birth parents are from two ancient, pureblood families. After they left Italy for who cares what reasons, my birth father drew attention to himself after he befriended a Death Eater and You-Know-Who fancied the way he made his galleons multiply!" She was just ranting now. "I come from two ignorant, intolerant families! I'm a damn pureblood witch with associations to everything we fought against! I'm everything that's wrong with the world and I...I'm not even me anymore!"

At the point that her ranting turned to crying, Harry and the two Weasley siblings just stared at Hermione with changing expressions and thoughts. It was like they couldn't move at the current moment, like someone just told them that the war was back on and it was time for them to march to battle once again while they were having tea and eating biscuits. They weren't prepared to hear any of it.

"I'm s-sorry," she cried into her hands, piercing the silence. "I'm so sorry."

"Hermione, stop." Harry was the first one to speak once he processed everything. The first thing he heard after he did so were his best friend's cries, and after hearing her sob during her torture session with Bellatrix Lestrange, he knew that he never wanted to hear it again. He had enough nightmares about it, he didn't need the reminder.

He leaned towards her, extending an open hand in her direction. "Who cares who your real parents are, or what your real blood-status is. You're Hermione Granger, Brightest Witch of her Age."

"But I'm not," she sniffled, extending her hand and reaching for his despite that. "I'm not Hermione Granger, Harry; that's not even my real name.I'm...I'm a..."

"Your name doesn't make you who you are," he told her. "I could be Barny Weasley again, but in the end I'm still what people see me as."

"He's right." Entering the conversation, Ginny joined her own hand into the ones of the two best friends. "You're still the kind, loyal, brilliant, and breathtaking girl you've always been, Hermione. It doesn't matter where you come from, what your name is, because you're our friend no matter what."

Using her free hand, Hermione used the back of it to wipe away some of her tears. "I just don't want you to hate me. There's so much that I still need to explain...so much that I don't even know yet because I didn't want to hear it." She exhaled thickly. "I've spent the last three days with a family that's not mine...that I know nothing about. This woman's there and she wants me to be her daughter but I already got a mum...I don't belong there."

With more understanding than Ginny about being in a house with relatives that you don't consider as, Harry squeezed her hand tighter. "Do they treat you badly?"

The brunette shook her head. "They're very accommodating; I'm the brat."

Ginny couldn't help the laugh that passed her lips. Hermione Granger, impolite? That would be a sight to see. "Who are they, anyway?" She asked. "Who are you related to?"

Hermione cringed at the question, not missed by any of the three friends before her. "Zabini."

"—Yes, love?" She had summoned the devil. Standing at the entrance of the compartment, Blaise Zabini and the silent, uncomfortable, hesitant, and very aggravated Draco Malfoy stood tall and alluring so the four Gryffindors could see them.

Animosity and tension grew, multiplied and invaded every single person in that compartment. Harry had let go of Hermione's hand, his back tensing and a frown creasing his forehead; Ginny had slowly released the girl's hand too, and outraged flickered repeatedly in her eyes; Ron remained silent, though his own expression was battling anger as his jaw squared off; Blaise looked on in distaste the more the seconds ticked by; Malfoy was equally as angered, though one couldn't assume at whom; and Hermione could hear her heartbeat bouncing off against her eardrums.

_Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock._

The first one to make a movement this time, after another long minute, was Ginny. She raised a red brow inspectingly. "How exactly are you and Zabini...you know. I mean, he's your age and—"

"Same father," Blaise cut across the redhead's babble.

Hermione let out a puff of air. "Blaise," she called tensely, "why are you here?"

"I got restless," replied Zabini. "And I wanted to make sure you were alright. I wasn't quite sure on what the outcome was going to be once you told your friends the truth." Both responses were far from the truth. Though he knew Hermione was never going to let him be there when she told her friends, he was not going to miss the opportunity to show Potter and Weasley exactly who it was that she was actually tied to. He knew she loved and was bonded to them, Golden Trio and all that, but _he _was her brother. He deserved a spot in her heart and he was going to get it, whether Boy Wonder and the Weasel liked it or not.

The redheaded girl humphed at the boy's response, letting that go. "So what's Malfoy doing here?"

At the mention of the blonde, the atmosphere might as well gone opaque with the amount of bitterness in the air. There was certainly a thick amount of strain from Malfoy and the Golden Trio, but it was far more than just childhood rivalries. All four of them had shared something in the war, especially Harry and Draco, that couldn't be denied. They had saved Malfoy's life, they'd seen him and his family under Voldemort's rule, like prisoners, they'd known he was forced to do things against his will, and they'd known what part he played in Voldemort's defeat. In return, Malfoy had spared them at Malfoy Manor, his mother had saved Harry's life, though not because she was fond of him, and he'd tossed Harry his wand when he revealed that he was indeed alive despite the claims of Voldemort and his followers.

Things were much more complicated—things that were always going to remain so and unspoken.

"Malfoy's a friend," Blaise said casually. "Though, I see Hermione left out a bit of information on that."

Sending her half-brother a glare, the brunette turned to the eyes of the two she was desperate to see filled with acceptance or some sort of understanding. Harry was still very much conflicted, exactly how Ron was still very much raging in silent hatred.

"Please," she whispered to them. "Just...Say something, will you?"

"Your name doesn't define you," Harry said with a sigh. "And you don't get to choose your family. If we did, Vernon Dursley would be my house-elf and not my uncle."

Tears welled up in Hermione's eyes. "Oh, Harry!" And for the first time, she did something she considered very Hermione Granger like; she launched herself at the Boy-Who-Lived and clung on tightly.

Though it was not missed by everyone else, as Hermione had her moment of relief and contentment, that Ron Weasley turned away from his two best friends and looked out the window of the compartment. There was no aim of acknowledgement or acceptance coming from him.

"Brilliant," exclaimed Zabini in fake cheer. He grabbed one of Malfoy's arms and pushed him towards the open compartment bench before closing the door behind him. "Now we're all friends!"

* * *

**AN: That went smooth, huh? Except for...well... you know.**

**Two things I want to explain:**

** 1) I think that Hermione's friends love her TOO much to ever cast her off like she doesn't matter, no matter what happens. They've been through so much together to throw everything away like their history means nothing.  
**

**2) I added that bit about Malfoy throwing his wand to Harry from the deleted scene of Death Hallows Part 2. As a Draco fan, I personally liked that scene. It gave him redemption, and I was sad that they didn't add it to the film. So for the sake of this story, let's say he did.  
**

**As for Ronald, well...I'm still working on that.  
**

**ENJOY :D  
**


	6. Letting Go

**Lover of the Light**

**Chapter Five: **Letting Go**  
**

A month had passed since that eventful train ride on the Hogwarts Express. Nothing revolutionary or eventful had happened after Blaise and Malfoy took seats in the compartment with the Golden Trio and Ginny Weasley. For the most part, they had sat in the awkward, tension-filled atmosphere; occasionally broken when Ginny had something to say about the upcoming year that was waiting for all of them. Neither of them attempted to add to anything the redheaded girl had to say then, Ron and Malfoy silent and looking away from everything, and Hermione had just taken a seat eventually next to her half-brother.

When given the chance, Hermione had sprung herself right out of the compartment, Ginny following her trail, and the two girls had gone off to change into their robes. As they were doing so, the younger witch had a lot to ask, allowing herself a moment to gasp dramatically and express her bewilderment over the fact that Hermione Granger was actually a Zabini. And though Hermione could understand Ginny's curiosity, the brunette had refrained from saying anything to ease it and just asked about the latter's summer. Taking the hint, Ginny had gone in a very detailed explanation about all those weeks of the summer holidays, taking up the forty-five minutes that had been left of the train ride until it came to a stop. Hermione had been very grateful for Ginny's indirect stalling.

The two girls had waited almost another half hour before they fled the side of the train that they were in. Hermione had ducked her head down, making her way through the crowd of students, Ginny glued to one of her hands, and then they had proceeded to the castle. Hermione had said goodbye to the redhead as soon as they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady. After she had practically sprint to her dormitory, she had stayed there in hiding; not even going to the welcome feast that Parvati Patil had insisted the two go down together for.

She knew that perhaps she was being a bit paranoid, but she honestly felt like people would know the truth as soon as they spotted her. She'd almost had a mini heart-attack when having been hiding in her closed-off four-poster and heard a serious 'Hermione Granger', finding Parvati standing at the entrance of the dormitory looking thoroughly calculating. To her relief, however, Parvati seemed to have been having some sort of emotional moment and heartbreaking thoughts because the girl had then tossed herself towards Hermione, tears in her eyes; crying about how she couldn't believe that out of the four girls sharing that dormitory, they'd been the only ones to survive. Hermione had proceeded to distract herself of her own issues by listening to Parvati grieve over the deceased Lavender Brown.

The point was that Hermione knew she was being a coward, too. The truth was the truth, she tried to understand that, but she couldn't really accept it. She was terrified that at any given minute someone would call out for Aria Zabini, a girl she was supposed to be since the moment she was born. But Hermione Granger's life hadn't made her a pureblood girl, had it? Nor had it given her a biological brother named Blaise Zabini. No, she _had _a brother—Harry—and though he was not tied down by blood to her, she knew him, felt him like you do family. If she accepted the truth, if she let others know the truth, all that would go away. She wouldn't be Hermione Granger, Harry Potter and Ron Weasley's best friend; she'd be a Zabini, the daughter of a man once associated with Voldemort.

Apart from feeling like a coward and terribly paranoid, she started feeling guilt since the first day of lessons when she began to dodge through people, hide in corners, and spend less time out in the grounds every time she saw a flash of the Slytherin crest. Blaise didn't deserve the shame and misery she felt, but it was also another thing she couldn't help. She was terrified to just think that he would declare her his half-sister if she ever gave him even a moment to spend together...

_BANG._

Having had been attempting to work on her Potions project, through her thoughts and mind drifting off to non-academic issues, Hermione's fast reflexes, developed and uncanny from her time at war, made her whip out her wand from her robes and crouch in a stance of battle when a loud noise ricocheted off the walls of the dungeon.

_CRASH. CRASH. _

Startled and gaping, Hermione became background as she watched Ron thrash about the classroom. He had stormed in, banging the door open, and he hadn't seen anything else but the stacked cauldrons for the next lesson that had been laid out by Professor Slughorn.

He was shouting, but she couldn't really make out anything, most of it sounding like grunts as he kicked and threw anything he could get a hold of. He was yelling and cursing with so much emotion, so much frustration, that it dug and stuck in her eardrums.

Though a month had passed since the term started, Ron had not made any inclination that he was going to start talking to Hermione like he had before. He talked to her, yes, he did, but it was nothing of importance, nothing that mattered, nothing that she'd been looking forward to hearing since a particular moment that they shared during the war. It was almost like he was closing in, shutting her out, and keeping her at a distance. It hurt her, to the point that she could say her heart broke—she just didn't know what had changed.

She could have simplified it and said that he was angry at her because of the revelation that she gave him a month ago, her being a Zabini and all, but she'd be lying to herself. Though he hadn't said anything, only showing his aggravated expressions and silent denial, his hostility towards her had developed ages ago. She remembered a week after the war ended, when she'd been ready to leave the Burrow to go to Australia to find the Grangers, Harry following, that he had practically shut the door in her face. She had gone to his bedroom to say goodbye, and hopefully get something she'd been waiting with anticipation for, but she had just been shunned.

_CRASH. CRASH._

As shreds of glass had almost graced her face, Hermione's reflexes came alive again. "Ronald!" With a protecting bubble illuminating out of her wand, she shouted to get the redhead's attention.

Because he had fought in the same war, because he'd been the famous Blood Traitor that many had been after, Ron's reflexes were almost as good as hers. He had his wand whipped out in less than a second, pointing it straight towards where the unsuspecting voice had sounded from; his fingers tight in hold but his arm shook greatly. He was breathing heavily, eyes ablaze, and face red with his anger.

He hadn't lowered his wand, not after Hermione had hers, nor after half a minute of staring right into each others' eyes. "Ron," she said shakily, suddenly nervous. Swallowing roughly, she took a careful step towards her, her left hand rising gently; intended to grab his wand.

And because she had been intending in taking his wand, he held tighter; raising it higher. Hermione's brown eyes widened, but he didn't falter or pay attention to her surprise. There was something almost mad about the way he was looking at her, something completely off and that she hadn't seen in awhile. It was the same look he'd worn when he'd had the horcrux locket around his neck; it was irritated, unstable, and full of pain.

"It's me, Ron," she breathed, taking another probably unsafe step towards him. "It's Hermione. Lower your wand."

"I know it's you," he hissed under his breath, sounding annoyed.

But since he kept his wand pointed at her, the tip of it glowing with the faintest hint of a spell, she was not convinced that he was entirely there. "Please, Ron, lower your wand."

A long moment after, he did, but she wasn't sure if it was because of the scared look on her face or the annoyance that he'd started sporting on his freckled complexion.

She took a deep breath. "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing," he snapped. He had his arms lowered at his side, but he was still clutching his wand between his fingers like he was preparing himself to curse something into smithereens. "Why should anything be wrong?"

Hermione furrowed her brows—like the disastrous mess behind him that he'd made with the supplies of the Potions classroom was not a tell-tale sign of his foul mood the past weeks. "At least have the courtesy not to lie to me, Ronald." It came out a lot harsher than what she had expected, but she couldn't shake out the frustration that was also mixing in with the heartache he caused her. "Look, I understand that everything is still a bit hard to adjust to, but—"

"You don't understand anything!" He yelled at her. He took a furious step towards her, his blue eyes igniting into an almost navy with his anger. "And you don't know anything, so shut your mouth, Hermione!"

"Then _tell _me!" She shouted back. "Quit keeping me in the dark, quit pushing me away, and tell me what's wrong! I'm not stupid, Ron, I can see that's something is not right with you! All I want to do is be there for you—to help you!"

"I don't want your help!" He screamed, turned around and kicked the table where vials and potion ingredients were arranged for the next class too. All of it tipped over, crashing on the floor with a loud commotion. "I don't need your help! Leave me alone!"

Horrified was how she watched him for a few seconds as he thrashed about. She felt scared, nervous, and appalled watching him lose control the way that he was doing. He was kicking everything again, shouting like a maniac, and she just didn't know what to do. She wanted to help him, wanted to ease him of whatever burden he was carrying.

"Ron, please!" She cried, launching herself forward and grabbing him from behind; her arms gripping his waist with whatever strength she had. "Stop!"

"Let go, Hermione!" He roared. At her refusal to do so, he turned around and gripped her shoulders, shoving her backwards onto the table that was there. The supplies on it had fallen from her body hitting their stable surface, the edge of the table digging and bruising her back instantly. They looked each other dead in the eyes, blue and brown, infuriated and terrified.

But in the instant that he saw that look of complete terror and pain in her eyes, he released the iron grip his hands had on her shoulders. He swallowed roughly, feeling a headache coming on; even nausea at the way he had reacted.

"...I'm sorry," he murmured.

The fury had simmered down in his eyes, turning into a glistening of unshed tears. She saw the pain more than ever, raw and thick. "I just want to help you," she whispered back, her throat in a knot of emotions.

His right hand squeezed her shoulder roughly, but he hadn't seemed to notice that he was doing so. "I don't want your help," repeated Ron. "There's nothing to fix."

"That's not true," she said quickly. "Look at yourself, Ron...you're gone. I just want you back." The tears that had been welling up in her eyes fell, leaving a wet trail down her cheeks. "I want my best friend back...I want that boy that I...That I lo—"

Whatever it was that Hermione was finally going to say was silenced and interrupted when a growl echoed around the Potions classroom. Both Gryffindors turned their heads to the door of the classroom, and standing there were two Slytherins that Hermione had been avoiding since day one.

"Let go of my sister, Weasley!" Blaise hissed, stomping his way towards them, his wand pointed at the redheaded Gryffindor.

Malfoy, ever the silent one, slowly stepped inside the classroom; his eyes scanning the surroundings. He noticed everything, the broken and smashed vials, the cracked cauldrons, the ingredients useless and mixed with each other and fragments of glass on the floor. There was a table overturned too, and he spotted Granger's schoolbag and books littered too. By the evidence of such destruction toll, it was safe for him to assume that the Weasel and the Bookworm were having troubles in paradise.

He had told Zabini just that when they heard their yelling from two corridors down. The two Slytherins had been heading to the Potions classroom, on Zabini's demand after he scared a little Gryffindor into telling him where the Golden Girl was hiding today. He hadn't wanted to tag along, as always, but as always Zabini had a method of convincing him to go along with whatever he wanted—blackmail, using secrets that Malfoy had wished he had never told the git in the first place.

Eyes burning with fury again at the sight of the two Slytherins, Ron pushed away from Hermione and swiftly bent down to pick up his schoolbag that he'd been kicking back and forth between all the unconscious commotion he'd been making. He shoved Zabini backwards since the dark-skinned boy was stepping on the strap. And once he threw it over his shoulder, Hermione tore her back away from the table she'd been tossed to.

"Don't go, Ron," she said hurriedly, also pushing the Slytherin aside before the redhead could march out the classroom. "Please, Ron, just...Tell me what I can do." Her voice cracked, her hands started shaking, and she knew she should've kept her guard up because of the two unwanted boys in the room, but she couldn't. In an excusing manner, she was just a girl with a broken heart. "Let me be there for you."

Ron kept his back turned, his shoulders squared off in tension. "You didn't do anything," he told her simply, but sincerity was there. And it was the truth, it wasn't her fault.

But not catching that, only remembering the way that he didn't seek some one-on-one time with her, that he didn't smile at her, that he didn't absentmindedly put his arm around her shoulders anymore said a lot more to her than his previous statement.

And it was because of that, because of the way she felt rejected, like she was being ignored, like she was _unwanted _by him, that she took a careful step towards him; forgetting in that moment that Blaise and Malfoy were in the room. "Remember during the war what we...what we shared, Ron? Doesn't that matter?"

The redhead did not turn still.

"Do you love me, Ron?" Tears dripped down her face again.

This time, Ron did turn. His blue eyes were still filled with pain, slight aggravation, but there was also regret in that ocean-colored gaze. The intense regret she'd seen in his eyes before, when he returned back to her and Harry after he had taken off on them, but this one was worse. It was far more agonizing, more exposed, and more sincere.

"Look at me, Hermione," murmured the Gryffindor boy. "Do you love me?" The answer was obvious, she loved him with all her heart, but that's not what Ron was referring too. He knew that she cared too much, that he had a certain affection from her that no other boy did—but it was all going to go away. The more he was that unstable person, the more he was going to end up hurting her; making her resent him for everything that he knew he might not even bother to fight for.

He was letting her go, that was the regret in his eyes. And because that clicked in that brilliant mind of hers, the pieces of her heart that were still holding on with hope that they'd pick up after the kiss they shared in battle broke completely. More tears rushed down her cheeks, a wrenching pain rippling in her chest, but she didn't say anything.

This was about him, that was clear now.

Ron didn't bother to give her an apologetic smile, the regret in his eyes said it all; so he headed towards the door of the classroom without a look back at his best friend.

Silenced loomed now, both Slytherins looking quite uncomfortable by the way that the Gryffindor's eyes were dripping tears. They had never really seen anyone cry before—well, other than tortured victims in Malfoy's case, which the brunette was on the list of too—especially a girl, and now both shared the same urge not to be in that room. There was too much emotion in the air, too much heartbreak and achiness for their liking.

Hermione was oblivious to the background now, all her focus was on the empty trail Ron had left behind. She didn't know how she couldn't see what he had been doing before, the weeks he spent keeping her at a distance. He didn't want to keep her around while he battled his demons, and she had to remind herself over and over in her head that second that the reason he was pushing away, letting go of what she had assumed would happen after their kiss, was so she wouldn't be used as target-practice. He loved her, respected her enough to let her go.

Her bottom lip quivered as a sob crawled its way up her throat, stopping at the tip of her tongue for a second. There was no guarantee, after he was done with his phase, that they would pick up where they left off. That had been clear in the way that he looked at her; he wasn't sure if there was going to be any love left to give her when he started going back to the Ron Weasley she knew. And that, the fact that he didn't think he would still be in love with her, hurt more.

It pained her a lot more because she was losing everything swiftly, like the wind passing through the leaves of the trees out in the grounds on a Fall day. She had lost her muggle parents, in a sense, lost her history, lost who she had been for almost eighteen years, and now Ron. It was like everything that had been certain about Hermione Granger was slowly dying. And she was scared—_petrified_—that Aria Zabini was going to become her life.

That's when she let the sob at the tip of her tongue come out. It rippled out, starting from her chest, shaking her shoulders, and stinging her eyes. She put a palm over her mouth to try and muffle it but it was no use, she was losing grasp over everything she had held so dear.

During the month of finally being able to think aloud to himself that Hermione Granger was actually Aria Zabini, his half-sister, Blaise forgot that the Gryffindor was many things, and emotional was one of them. Personally, he really wasn't for tears and the whole thing about the heart, especially in girls. But he didn't really have a choice to endure this, right? The crying girl was his _sister_, he was going to have to learn to work with these things.

He took a very careful and unsure step towards her, the first of his life as a very confident and strong-willed boy. "Hermione?" Okay, so he had called out for her; now what? What the hell was he supposed to tell her now? The girl was obviously crying tears of heartbreak over the redhead Gryffindor—why exactly she would was beyond him, it was the _Weasel_, for fuck sakes—and he didn't know comforting words to help heal those wounds. Was there some sort of spell for this? A potion in the very least?

From the distance, with a blank expression that was hiding his uneasiness about this entire situation, even the slight amusement at the attempt Zabini was going to do to help comfort the brunette, Malfoy noticed that the latter hadn't heard her Slytherin brother. She just kept her eyes cast down on the littered floor, a hand over her mouth, and her shoulders shaking with her cries. He didn't know how someone like Granger, someone who had already gone through so much, could still find it in herself to shed so many tears. He assumed, that after winning the war and all that, that the Golden Trio would be nothing but smiles and posing for covers of every newspaper and magazines imaginable.

"Don't...cry," spoke Blaise with uncertainty, the confusion in his emerald eyes as he took another cautious step to the girl. In all honesty, he was afraid she'd dissolve into a puddle of tears if he stepped to close or something. "Don't cry for him, Her—"

"'Mione?" From the distance, Malfoy was the first to spot the next intruder of the wrecked Potions classroom.

Looking up instantly, her mind picking up that familiar voice, Hermione found emerald eyes staring at her with deep concern—Harry's. Their eyes met as he walked deeper into the room, stepping over cracked items and ignoring the two Slytherins in the room. "I bumped into Ron," Harry began softly. "He told me...He told me what happened."

Another sob crawled its way up with no mercy to her throat, stopping at the tip of her tongue again. She looked at Harry, her best friend, and she saw so many things. He was a part of her, a part of Hermione Granger; he was her comfort; he was her shoulder to cry on; and he'd known first hand how much Ron's abandonment cut her.

"He's a git," Harry continued, "but...for now...it's the best thing, Hermione. He needs it."

Nodding once, without really processing her friend's words, just focusing on the fact that he was there, ready to comfort her, ready to hold her, she launched forward towards him in a few short steps. She didn't even noticed that she practically elbowed Blaise when she wrapped her arms around Harry tightly, hiding her face in his shoulder.

Harry really didn't say anything else, because what was there really to say, so he steered his best friend out of the classroom. He thought of a nonverbal, causing her schoolbag to lift itself from the messy ground and follow after them.

And as two-thirds of the Golden Trio left the Potions classroom, Blaise Zabini sparked up with complete fury but also with something he couldn't identify. It stabbed him at the sides of his chest, making his conscience somehow form the preposterous idea that he was not worthy to be in the girl's life.

She had left him behind, after all; in the destroyed background, where her pain and misery collected. She was never going to willing take Blaise down in the road of her happiness, and he'd be damned if he let her reject him of that. He didn't give a damn what her and the Chosen One had lived through, _he _was her brother, and this was not over yet.

With a kick to a cracked cauldron, Zabini headed towards the door of the classroom. And before he could exit it he said, "chop chop, Malfoy. Clean this mess up."

* * *

**AN: Well, that's done. **

**This chapter was sort of a filler, but in a way, it also needed to happen. This is obviously NOT a Ron/Hermione story.  
**

**:D  
**


	7. Control, Her Control

**Lover of the Light**

**Chapter Six: **Control, Her Control**  
**

"You're doing it again."

Blinking away from a fixed point a few feet away from her library table, Hermione found a pair of almost black eyes staring at her with a hint of amusement, but also a lot of surprising sympathy.

"Doing what?" She replied, clearing her throat casually as she began to stack the various sheets of parchment that she had scattered around her into a neat pile.

Parvati Patil raised a dark eyebrow at her fellow Gryffindor. "You know, you might not be the typical girl, Hermione, but you still act exactly like any other heartbroken girl would." She was looking right at the brunette's face and she nodded back to the direction the latter had been gawking at with no discreteness at all. "Why don't you just talk to him? It's been a week. I doubt that whatever it is that happened between you two caused a riff in your friendship that you can't even go over and scold him about his studying habits."

"I don't know what you're on about," whispered Hermione, her chin raised high and her shoulders squared off as she continued to stack her notes that were already perfectly gathered; all while dodging the girl's eyes.

"So you've not been crying for the past few days in the middle of the night for him, then? So you haven't been wandering around by yourself, hiding out in the dormitory for the past week?" Parvati snorted. "Alright, we can pretend all you want to, then."

Looking up from her schoolwork, Hermione met her roommate's eyes for the first time since the other girl sat down, invading her much needed solitary moment. She didn't really know what was up with Parvati, her being surprisingly attentive and friendly since the school year started. Though they had shared a dormitory since First Year, they've never been what someone would call friends; especially because Parvati was everything Hermione found annoying in typical girls their age. Lately, however, the other girl had simmered down with her gossiping and superficial ways, focusing on her schoolwork and staying close to her Ravenclaw sister Padma and some Gryffindors.

And maybe it was because Parvati was a girl, because she was changing and being a decent human-being, that the brunette let out a breath that suggested her surrender to the other girl's attempt of a friendship. "I'm giving him his space," she said in a low voice. "I thought that...During the war we...we kissed and I just...We can't be together. I thought we would, eventually, you know, but he's lost himself after the war that there's not a hope that we will ever be able to pick up where we left off." She paused for a bit, her chest aching, and very broken-heartedly she said, "there's not a chance he'll love me still."

At the clear hurt in her fellow Gryffindor's face, Parvati reached over and placed her hand over the one Hermione had on the tabletop. "Everybody handles their grieving in different ways, Hermione."

"And Ron's loss of Fred turned to anger." The brunette nodded, showing that she agreed with the girl's statement. "I understand that, Parvati, I really do, but..."

"But he's not going to fight for you," the dark-skinned girl finished. "He has to deal with his grieving, and he's letting you go while he does so. That's why you're heartbroken, then? Because what you've been waiting for for years, what you felt, wasn't worth the fight for him?"

Hermione breathed in, her eyes stinging with tears all of a sudden. That sounded selfish, didn't it? Ron was grieving for his dead brother, and there she was, crying because their meant-to-be fairytale ending was easily shattered and it easily became a thing of the past. It was a selfish thing to feel, but she couldn't help it; their love was not supposed to be so easily brushed aside like it hadn't been building up and waiting for the perfect moment to explode and wrap them in golden lights. But the perfect moment never arrived, nor was it going to.

"I'm a horrible person," she muttered, a tear slipping out. "I know that."

"No," Parvati responded, squeezing her hand. "You're grieving too. You're grieving your lost love, Hermione, and that's okay. But I also know that you, Ron and Harry have an unbreakable friendship. Things will get better soon. Don't grieve your friendship because that hasn't ended."

Hermione smiled a very dim smile at Parvati. She had forgotten that bit for the past week—she and Ron _did _have an unbreakable friendship. The same war that had crushed their love and would-be relationship was also the very same war that had strengthened the friendship between her and her two best friends.

"Thanks, Parvati," she said kindly.

The Gryffindor witch smiled too, a glitter in her dark eyes. "Of course." She patted Hermione's had fleetingly before she pulled away. "But, listen, I'll see you later, okay? I forgot that I was supposed to meet Seamus for our Herbology project down in the greenhouses."

The two girls said their exchanges, and Hermione was sure she had agreed to meet Parvati and Seamus later at the greenhouses, but she really couldn't be sure because from the distance, in that fixed point that she had been concentrated on previously, blue eyes flickered to her for the first time in what seemed like ages.

He had been sharing the table with Zacharias Smith, the two boys bent over at the shoulders, working surprisingly hard on the assignment Slughorn had given them a week ago and that was due at the end of the day. He hadn't even made any action that he saw her, sensed her, or that she was drilling holes at the top of his head for more than an hour. But as soon as he had looked up, locked eyes with her, she saw the struggle in his eyes.

There was a fighting twinkle in them, like the glitter of a memory that had been freshly repressed. It was the hint at something innocent and lovely that they had once shared—but it was pushed back and clouded by the grief that was his constant shadow these days.

The tiniest smile—which was more of a twitch at the corner of his lip—was given to her. She was about to return it, despite the twinge that told her that it was a pity action, but someone blocked Ron from her view. Instead of her redheaded best friend and his blue eyes, Hermione's line of vision was filled with a boy with dark hair that waved around below his chin perfectly, and almond-shaped, dark eyes with thick lashes arching around them.

It was a stranger; it was an enemy.

"Mind if I sit?"

She didn't answer him. Hermione tensed up, her jaw shutting tight, her reflexes and senses of defense coming alive, the wheels of her brilliant mind churning, trying to figure out why he was there.

Taking the fact that she hadn't, the boy sat down anyway. He pulled off his schoolbag from his shoulder, placing it carefully on the tabletop, and then proceeded to open the latch. "Studying for your N.E.W.T's, are you?" His dark eyes glanced at the N.E.W.T preparation guide the school had sent over the summer that she had opened before her. "Seems like you and I are the only ones. None of the other Seventh Years will get around to it until the exams are a month away."

He took out his own study guide, followed by his quill and ink-pot, and he flashed a satisfied smile at her. And it was because of that, because of the glint like he was accomplishing something, that Hermione grew more suspicious and yet nervous.

"Why are you here?" She asked directly, her politeness on pause as she narrowed her brown eyes at the dark-haired boy.

"I thought it was alright to sit?"

"It wasn't," she replied immediately, "yet you took the liberty to do so."

Theodore Nott smiled again, a little larger. There wasn't any hint that he was offended or annoyed by the brunette's straightforward discomfort of him being there; he instead found it quite amusing and endearing. "My apologies," he said casually. "I didn't mean any trouble, Miss Granger. Just wanted to take a seat, study for a bit."

She didn't let up with her frown. Nott was a Slytherin, and not only did she have a bad history with Slytherins, but what she remembered from her previous years of school, the dark-haired boy had also been friends with Malfoy and Blaise. What if Nott had found out that Hermione Granger was actually a Zabini and he was there to use the information for his own needs? It had to be but obvious that if the truth got out she'd be devastated. And it was always in the nature of a Slytherin to kick a Gryffindor down.

Because of her determination to stay behind her boundary line, the Slytherin proceeded to chip the ice separating the two. "I'm taking the plunge to try and make something good here," he said to her quietly. "Much happened after the war, Miss Granger; and even during it. I just simply want to make amends."

"Why?" Hermione snapped with attitude.

Nott tried to hide his amused grin, and he achieved just so when the girl before him tensed and scowled at the tabletop when he slid his hands a few centimeters closer to hers. "I would really like to have a new start," his voice was still low. "You don't really know me, nor do I know you, and I can't have a new beginning with preconceived ideas about me looming over my new pathway."

Hermione's frown cooled a few degrees. "And this new beginning starts with befriending me?" Her suspicion was still in her brown eyes, but scepticism was also starting to make an appearance.

The boy had not mentioned anything about Blaise, nor had he made any direct or indirect comment about knowing anything about the truth she was hiding. He hadn't sat down to try and pester her either—he had good intentions it seemed. She didn't know much about Theodore Nott; just that his father was a Death Eater. He had never made any cruel comment towards her, had never participated in the hazing other Slytherins would do to other students, and she hadn't spotted him on either sides of the war.

She didn't have any clue who he was, yet she did hold those preconceived ideas that he must mean harm because of what house he belongs to and who his father is.

"You have a lot of qualities that I admire, Miss Granger," spoke the Slytherin once more. "And frankly, I've always wondered what it would be like to be friends with the Brightest Witch of our Age. Not to mention that I can really use some help with my Charms work, I'm absolutely rubbish at it."

Hermione couldn't help it, she let out a small laugh.

Taking that as a good sign, Theodore extended a hand towards her. "Acquaintances then?"

"You really aim low, don't you?" Hermione replied, inspecting his hand with a raised eyebrow. "You could try to be friends with me."

"Baby steps with you, Miss Granger. I just can't assume you're going to leap out of your chair, hug me in that way you do Potter and Weasley, and tell me your hopes and wishes. I'm sure I would've been hexed right out of the library if I had attempted to do so."

Sadness, mixed with a strange dose of gratitude, crossed Hermione's face when she met the dark eyes of the Slytherin. She had been bombarded with forced bonds with people the last couple of weeks that she actually found Nott's gesture, his _request _to leave the past behind, sad and accepting. She had the choice here. It was all up to her and Nott gave her that, without expecting a yes. Granted, she didn't owe him anything and she wasn't tied to him in the ways she was to the Zabinis, but it made her feel like she gained some bit of control back in her life.

"Just don't call me Miss Granger." She reached over and took his hand, shaking it with greeting; granting him his fresh start. "Hermione is fine."

"Call me Theo, then."

As the Slytherin flashed a handsome smile at the girl, and both shook hands willingly once more, some of the previous bad blood among whom he was and who she was disappearing, there were several pairs of eyes witnessing the moment.

From that point a few feet away that Hermione had forgotten about the second Theodore moved his chair and dragged it closer to her, making her attention go to the Charms work he pulled out of his schoolbag, Ron Weasley and Zacharias Smith stared at them with aggravated and careful expressions. The redheaded looked a bit more cautious, and the other boy looked somewhat offended.

And further down, further away from the tables, right at the edge of an aisle of books, Blaise Zabini stood with a younger Hufflepuff student. The little boy hadn't a clue what they were looking at, but his arms were growing weak and were aching by holding several of the Slytherin's books as the latter looked ready to start blowing things to smithereens.

Blaise had been angry on many occasions, it had been a primary feeling while grieving his mother when Death Eaters had killed her two years ago, but this was a new wave of fury. It wasn't painful or scarring like he'd felt it before, it was much more domineering and possessive. It was the type of anger that one would feel if someone stole something from you that you've been guarding; something that was one-of-a-kind and unattainable by others.

Nott had crossed a line today. And one simply did not cross lines that a Zabini marked or prohibited access to.

"Hanson."

"Y-Yes, Mister Zabini?"

"You've got a five-second head start before I string you up on a goalpost by your knickers."

The little boy dropped the books he'd been ordered to carry by voice-command by the older boy and took off immediately. One thing he'd known from the previous kid that had been the Slytherin's personal assistant was that once a Zabini was infuriated, nothing was safe. Not even little Hufflepuffs who happened to be at the wrong place, at the wrong time.

**X**

Someway, somehow, at some point, the world had definitely lost its balance and tipped over common sense. There was no chance, in the reality that she'd known and was perfectly content with, that this would be happening. No, in the real world, where everything was normal, everything was joyful and blissful, she would never be up at the Astronomy Tower, her Prefect badge thrown across the floor with complete disrespect, and caught in an attack of peer pressure. Things like that did not happen to Hermione Granger.

"Brilliant warming charm."

"Thank you. Daddy always said my warming charms were like a proper cup of Dirigible Plum tea."

"I don't even know what that is, but sure. Lovely."

"My compliments on your decor. You really did perfectly capture the essence of _feng shui _with the bits you brought up. And do I smell a hint of Citronella and Bergamot?"

"Cheers; you only missed the grapefruit scent."

"Any particular reason why you mixed these aromas?"

"Of course! Well, my curious friend, the Vietnamese believe that Citronella helps clear the mind, refresh the soul, and reduces stress. Bergamot, straight from the motherland of Italy, helps with emotional imbalance, anxiety, and helps with motivation. And I added the grapefruit because I always felt it was a refreshing scent, almost liberating. They're all perfect for our little get-together."

"Ingenious, really. You're targeting all the concerns you have."

"I brushed up on some aromatherapy during the summer. Mum thought it was complete rubbish, especially since Fleur was the one to recommend it to me, but I think it's wonderful. It really does help to distress."

"Aromatherapy is a muggle technique, isn't it?"

"Yes. Brilliant if you ask me."

"Daddy used to get our tea supply from a witch in Liverpool, you know. The woman, lovely with her eyepatch, purple hair, and wooden leg, once recommended to take the intestines of a frog and smear—"

"_Are you two out of your minds?!_"

Turning away from each other, Ginny Weasley and Luna Lovegood stared at the brunette sitting at the end of the furry and velvety rug that was laying on the pavement below them. It was the first time the girl had spoken in over an hour that the two girls had almost forgotten that she was there.

Hermione had hardly been listening to whatever it was the two younger girls were talking about because she had been gaping at them with outraged eyes throughout the whole time. She had been exiting the Great Hall after dinner, about to head to the library for her fourth and final visit of the day, when she'd been kidnapped by the eccentric Ravenclaw and the fiery Gryffindor without a warning. She had protested the entire way, but she had been quickly placed under a Silencing Charm by Ginny. (The rudeness.)

It wasn't until they had reached the top of the tower that she had been released and confined onto the wide balcony with the two girls and their ridiculous get-up. She had proceeded to rant and scold through the charm over her, but Ginny had simply rolled her eyes, ripped the Prefect's badge off her robes, and tossed it carelessly aside; nothing but a 'loosen up, 'Mione' to justify the action.

"You simply cannot do this! There are rules to be followed!"

Ginny snorted at the brunette's shout, slightly annoyed that the charm had worn off so soon. "We're having some girl-bonding time. I doubt there's a rule against that at Hogwarts."

"It is when you're breaking curfew! Not to mention we aren't allowed up on the Astronomy Tower anymore after dark! The Headmistress said so the first day back!"

"Oh, come off it. No one really follows the rules—other than you, that is. And, really, Hermione, just shut it and relax. Have a cup of tea with Luna and I."

The brunette could not have looked more outraged than she had in that moment. "There's no tea, Ginevra! You've got bottles of Firewhiskey!"

"Same thing, really," Ginny said nonchalantly, refilling the Ravenclaw's glass with the golden-like liquid that was their drink for the night. "Don't be so righteous, Hermione. It's not like you've never had a bit of alcohol before. Besides, you're being incredibly rude right now. Luna and I went out of our way to do this for you."

"I didn't ask you to." Though she wasn't yelling anymore, Hermione was still speaking with her frustration.

Ginny had opened her mouth to speak again but Luna had cut across first. "Oh, can I answer this?" The redhead pressed her lips into a tight line and nodded once; granting permission for the blonde to take over. "Well, as Ginny had explained to me before we all came up here, sometimes in life you see a friend in need and you attempt to ease them of their burden, even if for the littlest while. It's a selfless and kind way of helping the person relax, accept things that need to be accepted, and to give them a chance to laugh it out and have a good time with their friends."

Luna's naive-ness of how the world works was almost too ridiculously tender that Hermione was almost tempted to just move next to the odd girl and hug her tightly. Unfortunately, she was quite upset with the fact that several rules were being broken, that Ginny refused to acknowledge the fact that Hermione took her Prefect title seriously, and that her chance to brush up on some variables and symbols for her next Ancient Runes class had been torn from her.

"I'm fine," Hermione said stiffly to the two girls.

"No, you're daft," added Ginny instantly, a frown creasing her forehead now. "You're daft because you think you can fool any of us into thinking that you're put together. But you're not, Hermione. You're all over the place that you can't even see it."

The older Gryffindor crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm fine," she repeated. "I'm just completely focused on doing my schoolwork and studying for N.E.W.T's. Unlike some people, school is still my priority. And just because I'm not out and about in the grounds, or having a laugh with our friends, doesn't mean I'm not okay."

"You're not okay! You're hiding!" Ginny had reached her snapping point. That was obvious to Hermione and Luna the moment her ears and cheeks flushed red like the color of hair tied up in a loose bun. "I'm tired of people hiding their emotions and putting on fake smiles! And I'm not going to let you be one of those people, Hermione! You're hurt, confused, and afraid! Admit it!"

But the brunette didn't. She just watched Ginny with her true feelings tucked safely behind closed doors; and there was no way they were coming out. Ginny was her best girl friend, the one girl she could have an open conversation about anything, the one girl who was like a sister, who she admired and adored, but she couldn't. She couldn't talk to Ginny, she couldn't open and bare her soul to her because it was going to strip Hermione away from the last precious thing she had.

By admitting that she was hurting, that she was terrified, she'd be renouncing to her old shreds of control she had left. She couldn't do that to herself. Hermione Granger was a girl that thrived in that; in accurate facts, in the truth, and the control over her own life. But people just kept taking and taking it, they kept destroying the essence of Hermione Granger when she was desperately trying to hold on to it. They robbed her of her own identity, and they had left her with nothing. If it was the least she could do, she was going to hold on to what was left of her control.

"I already gave you my undying support and understanding about who you really are, Hermione. That's what real friends do. The least you could do for me is not lie to me." Ginny was not done. Like her father, Ginny was going to continue to fix the aftermath the war had left. She was not going to sit back and watch people wither away within themselves. That's not what life was about. It was about moving on, growing up, and changing. She was not going to let her loved ones drown in their shades of murky grey.

"I need you to be in the same boat as me," the redhead went on. "I need you to be okay too, Hermione. And I'm not going to sit back while you torture yourself over something you can't control."

Inhaling deeply through her nostrils, the brunette lifted her chin up high. "I'm fine," she repeated for the third time. "I've got everything under control."

Ginny let out a giant, sarcastic laugh. "That's rich." The scents of calming aromas lingering in the air weren't helping to defuse the tension. "You've been hiding behind a book so you won't face Ron. You wait until the last minute to eat, avoiding Harry. And you haven't stepped a foot outside because you're dodging your own brother! You have no control over anything because you're trying to make life what it was. Well, face it, Hermione, nothing is the same! Accept that and then you'll be in control again!"

It was a slap. It was a slap right across the face, and the redhead did not look like she was going to feel any remorse over it. Ginny had thrown everything back at Hermione, reminding her that she had open scars that she'd been pretending were closed and healed for more than a month.

Hermione rose up from the rug Ginny and Luna had brought up to the top of the Astronomy Tower. And without a look at either girl, she stormed out of the little get-up they had created to help her calm herself.

Why was it so hard? Why was it so difficult for those around her to understand that not everything was easy? Why couldn't people see that she felt, that she hurt, and that she was insecure? Why couldn't they just let her hold on to what kept her sane? She didn't want to be a Zabini, she didn't want to have to give up on Ron, and she didn't want to transform her life. She just wanted to go back on the track where her happiness was, where everything made sense.

Why was Fate doing this to her? Why had it wiped clean the story she had already been working on to replace it with a new book with completely white pages? Did Hermione Granger not matter? Hadn't she proved to be kind and fair that they decided it was time to replace her with an unused Zabini girl?

"_Aria_."

Wiping away a tear that had fallen down her cheek as she walked hurriedly down a corridor, Hermione spun around on her heels when she heard that dreaded name.

There was no one there. The shadows of the fire-posts reflected off the marble walls, her own shadow against the marble floor, and the corridor was silent. Curfew had been called more than half an hour ago; no one was to be out at this time. No one had been around as she had made her way down the tower, not even a ghost.

"_Aria_."

She spun around again, her skin crawling with goosebumps. She pulled out her wand from the pocket of her robe, raising it high and in the perfect angle to curse anyone that dared to appear. This wasn't a game, she could _feel _that. She could sense the danger impregnating the air, making it thick and cold.

"_Aria_."

With fast reflexes, she turned to the left and held her wand tighter between her fingers. "Who's there?" She called out.

But instead of an answer, not like she expected one, there was a haunting laugh echoing off the walls of the corridor. It was screeching, mocking, and amused. It reminded her of Bellatrix Lestrange's laugh, and she would've thought that the woman had risen from the dead to kill her once and for all if the laughter had been completely deranged.

"_Aria_."

She had turned again towards the direction of the voice that called out for the given name the Zabinis had given her. But before she let out the spell she was thinking of, just as it was about to pass her lips and light up her wand, a flash of purple enveloped her completely. Her wand slipped from her fingers and her back had collided with the marble floor.

That's when Hermione Granger had been stripped away from her wicked battle defenses. That's when Aria Zabini felt her first real sense of life. And that's when the screaming and pain began.

* * *

**AN: Dun, dun, dun!**

**Now we're getting somewhere, am I right? No? You're right. Or are you? (;  
**

**Anyway, I hope you liked this. It was a bit rush, but I tried. Next chapter will be uploaded much quicker than this one, PROMISE! And I promise you'll like it too! Things will pick up in a faster pace, I just needed y'all to understand the difficulty of all this.  
**


	8. One Small Step Forward

**Lover of the Light**

**Chapter Seven: **One Small Step Forward**  
**

He'd been sitting there for a while, not really processing much. He just remembered the pounding of his heart—the way it mixed and tangled with strings of utter hatred and pure fury against the world.

It had started with a thought, just a tiny one at that. He'd been putting on his shoes quietly, after he'd awaken uncharacteristically early and before his other roommates, when he had noticed that he had accidentally put on maroon-colored socks. And that's how he'd been blinded by resentment and venom. Hand-me-down, maroon-colored, ripped-at-the-toe socks that had once belong to Fred.

He had to race out of the dormitory before he destroyed it; before that monster inside of him could come out and just create a bigger mess. He had gone on rampages before, had kicked and broken so many things that he was starting to think himself crazy. But he just couldn't contain that monster most of the times, and when that happened, nothing was safe. He hated everything and everyone in those moments. The world, the people he loved in it, blurred out and he just saw the flash of memory of watching his brother crumble down to the floor during battle. It was agonizing for him, physically and mentally, having to remember Fred as cold and dead instead of what he'd been...

The war had left its affects on people, he knew that; knew of their pain too. He knew that many people had lost people important to them, but it had hit him a lot worse than anyone expected or that he had been letting on. He had seen so many horrible things from such a young age that the war had just been the tipping point. The war had brought out the worst in him, and it seemed like Life had found a way to make him pay for those dark thoughts and unloyal actions.

Despite feeling so angry all the time, he also saw so many things around him. He was becoming more aware of people and their behaviors. And he saw the way people began to put distance between him: in classrooms, in the common room, or when he walked down the corridors. He was scaring them and he knew that it was justified. He was scaring himself. If that monster that lived off his nightmares didn't die soon, if he didn't learn to move on, he knew something bad was going to happen. And it almost always did...

It had started off as breaking things when he couldn't contain his emotions, his frustration and hatred whenever he heard whisperings or he passed the memorial of the deceased in the room of trophies. But then it escalated—it turned to uncontrolled spasms and lashes. He had pointed his wand at Hermione that day he'd let her go; and he didn't want to lower it, even after a second of realizing that it was her. He had then shoved her, pushed her against a table when she got too close. And a night not too long ago, he had shoved Ginny to the ground when she had been scolding him about something that he can't even remember.

That's when he knew he needed to try to get over his grief. He had tossed his sister on the ground like trash, like she was the enemy. He had contemplated on whipping out his wand too, giving her a good scare, giving her a good hex to get her to piss off—but who does that? Ginny was his little sister and he loved her. He didn't want to hurt her. For fuck sakes, his brothers—Fred especially, if he were still alive—would've butchered him in an instant if he ever did so. But the thing was that he was hurting her by just grieving and losing himself in that misery.

He just needed something. He just needed a wake up call, something grand and luminous to shake up his life; to make him see through the fog that was plaguing his mind.

"Do you mind?"

Waving away that fog that was clouding his head, Ron blinked and came back to the focus. As such, his senses reactivated and he found that his ears had perked up with chatter, clanking of plates, scraping of knives and forks, owls hooting; his mouth had been chewing on something crunchy and sweet, toast with jam; and his sight had been taken over by the golden light of the sun streaming through the windows of the Great Hall and by a pair of blue eyes.

He took out the piece of toast he had absentmindedly been holding near his lips. "Er..what?"

Those blue eyes grew annoyed. Those blue eyes that belonged to Pansy Parkinson. "Can you hand me that letter you're mucking up with your sticky fingers?"

Ron looked down at the surface of his house's table. His left hand was resting upon a package of mail, and indeed, his fingers were covered in strawberry jam and picking at the flap of the envelope beneath them.

"I thought it was weird that you had a subscription to _Witch Weekly_." Removing his left hand from over the mail beneath it, Ron was a little surprised to find that Harry had been sitting beside him. "Then again, Padma Patil has been saying your fashion sense has improved since Fourth Year. Thought it was all sort of related, mind you. Not that I would judge you if that was the case, mate."

The redhead just scrunched his eyebrows, not answering back to his best friend. How the hell had he even gotten to the Great Hall, started eating breakfast, and taken someone else's mail?

"Barmy owl," Parkinson huffed almost casually. "Its been delivering my mail to random people all month. I swear the thing is doing it on purpose."

Again, Ron blinked and noticed another thing that he hadn't before. Instead of Pig, his little grey, annoying owl, there was a fluffy brown one beside him.

"Have you done anything to upset it?" Harry asked, continuing on the interaction with the Slytherin witch like it was the most nonchalant thing to do; like she was a friend. It was unsettling for Ron to witness it. "Though owls have their job, they're also proud creatures, you know."

The girl huffed again, crossing her arms over her chest as her blue eyes inspected the bird. "I didn't do anything to it," she responded, "but Goyle did take a poke at it a few weeks ago. He was trying to get Lyla to mate with his owl Burt."

"Explains why the thing is offended, then. I've seen Goyle's owl; it looks like a fat rat with wings and a crooked beak."

At the words that had slipped out of his mouth, Ron noticed that Harry and Parkinson went deadly silent. Harry looked to be almost surprised, slightly amused, and even calm by hearing his voice. Parkinson, however, stared almost too deeply. Those blue eyes of hers were burning him, making him feel like they were quizzing him up; studying him. It made him uncomfortable. And it stirred up some bad emotions.

"Well, if Lyla brings any more of your mail, we'll send it right back," Harry broke the silence as he stood up from the table once his plate was completely clean. "Ron, we should go to the library before Potions starts. Maybe we'll find Hermione there, too. Merlin knows I haven't seen her in a while."

Ron looked into Parkinson's eyes one more time before giving her a nod. She did nothing—her blue eyes just narrowed in distaste, losing a hint of a sparkle, and then she turned on her heels and left with her mail.

"We're being nice to Parkinson now?" After quickly gathering his belongings, the redhead was out of his seat and walking alongside his best friend; both heading out of the Great Hall. "She did try to hand you over to You-Know-Who, remember?" His fists clenched automatically; memories trying to poke his way into his current thoughts. Fred's face especially.

A frown appeared on Harry's face. "Doesn't matter, Ron."

"She practically wanted you _dead_, mate."

"It doesn't matter, Ron," Harry repeated with a tone that suggested he was speaking to a stubborn child that wasn't listening to its parent. "And frankly, I don't care. I just want to get through Seventh Year without any trouble. Hell, if Malfoy decided to start being decent then—"

"Potter. Weasley."

Stopping his next step with a jerk, Harry and Ron's path towards the library was suddenly impeded by a woman with a constant serious expression on her elderly face.

McGonagall let some of the crowd heading in different directions fade away before she took a careful step towards the two Gryffindors. And as expected, though he didn't much like it, Harry found that the Headmistress was speaking with a grave tone. "While doing the early rounds around the castle, Mister Filch came across...a problem."

"Not another petrified cat, please," Harry said offhandedly, rubbing his forehead when he felt a sudden headache come on. It was just his body's natural reaction now when someone hinted at danger or more troubles for him.

The Headmistress paid no mind to his comment. "We found Miss Granger abandoned in one of the higher levels of the castle yesterday, Mister Potter. She was attacked."

"—What'd you mean she was attacked?!" Harry had definitely conjured up the devil, except he came with company and a little late upon mention. Quiet and with guarded silver eyes, Malfoy stood beside Blaise Zabini as the latter looked lit up with outrage.

"What happened?!" Zabini continued to hiss at the professor.

McGonagall narrowed her beady eyes disapprovingly at the Slytherin. "That is not a conversation to have in the open, Mister Zabini," she told him coldly. "And I suggest you watch your tone."

"Where is she?" Bringing back the fact that Harry and Ron had been left like someone had just chucked a cauldron of ice-water over their heads, the Boy-Who-Lived wasted no more precious time to figure out where his best friend was. "Where's Hermione, Professor?"

"She's at the Hospital Wing," the Headmistress responded quickly. "You and Mister Weasley come with me. I'll take you to her."

Blaise was not amused at the words that passed through the old bat's lips. "If anyone gets to see her, it's me," he snapped; getting in the way before the two Gryffindors and the Headmistress could leave. "Potter and Weasley should've not been informed before I was."

"Mister Potter and Mister Weasley are Miss Granger's—"

"I'm her _brother_!" The Slytherin was no longer using his inside-voice. "They're nobodies!"

McGonagall and Harry looked at one another while Ron glared at Zabini, his palms were still clenched into fists. Harry was thoroughly aggravated by Zabini's comment, but he also knew that there was some truth in what he'd said. And McGonagall did too.

The woman had received a rather importune visit from Deon and Allegra Zabini a month before Hogwarts reopened its doors to its students. She hadn't been too sure why they were in her office that evening, and frankly, she figured that it possibly had to do with the fact that all parents of Slytherin students weren't too sure if the doors were going to be open for their children. She hadn't really known much of Blaise Zabini; just that he was an arrogant boy with Pureblood ideologies like the rest of his house-mates and that his mother had passed away and all legal rights rested with Deon Zabini.

So it was to her great surprise that neither of the Zabinis were their to talk about Blaise, but about their long-lost, hushed-up daughter Aria Zabini—or should one say, Hermione Granger. She had processed the news as respectably as she could and professionally accepted all the legal transfers that the Grangers were giving to the Zabinis over Hermione. After the brief explanation of how this was, and her vow to keep the secret silent until Hermione was ready to let the world know, Mister and Mrs. Zabini had left; leaving McGonagall frowning disapprovingly at a certain portrait in the Head Office. Twinkling blue eyes covered by half-moon spectacles had just stared at her casually, already knowing the secret that had just been revealed to the new Headmistress of Hogwarts. (Not that she'd been surprised there; nothing ever passed over Albus Dumbledore.)

"Very well, Mister Zabini," the woman added hastily. "You, Potter and Weasley can come along. Now hurry."

As Harry and Ron walked quickly alongside McGonagall, practically racing past her to get to the Hospital Wing, Blaise and Draco shared a fleeting look before the dark-skinned boy marched off to find his sister. It wasn't informative or meant to portray anything, but Malfoy was thoroughly impressed by the fact that Zabini actually felt adoration for someone else that wasn't himself.

Only if the Golden Girl returned the affection.

**X**

_Aria._

Thrash.

_Aria Zabini._

Kick.

_I know your secret._

Groan.

_You have blood of the enemy in your veins._

Pain.

_You're a lie._

Sweat.

_You're a lie, Hermione Granger. You don't exist._

Light.

Panting with a great rush, her heart thumping wildly, Hermione's eyes opened from the flecks of something dark and twisted only to find it washed away by white light. It hurt her eyes, giving her a slight and instant headache. Adding to the discomfort, she found that she had also bolted into a semi-sitting position; an action that caused her body to ache from head to toe.

Taking a deep inhale, filling her lungs with clean air and feeding her mind the idea that there was no danger or darkness lurking, she looked at her surroundings. She was in the Hospital Wing, laying and tangled into white bedsheets with sweat dripping from her hairline and down her neck. There was no one inside the Hospital Wing, not even Madam Pomfrey inside her office.

"Goodness," she breathed to herself, lowering her back against the mattress since she couldn't really bear the soreness she was feeling. "What happened?"

Honestly, that was the question, wasn't it? But before she could even attempt to answer it, the doors opened and her ears heard a stampede and her eyes saw flashes of black and red hair.

"Hermione!"

At the distinctive and familiar voices echoing around the room, Hermione was instantly bombarded by Ron and Harry at her bedside. She smiled instantly at their presence, at their loving faces—except that smile didn't last long when she noticed that McGonagall and Blaise had also followed her best friends into the room.

"What happened?!" Harry was the first one to bombard her with the obvious question.

Harry had grabbed both of her hands from the right side of her bedside as Ron stood on the left. The redhead smiled at her, a caring sort of smile, but she didn't let it melt her heart in any other way than a platonic friendship and of true concern.

"I don't know," she responded with an exasperated sigh. "I just...I was heading back to Gryffindor Tower. There was no one in the corridor, but I felt this presence...It felt like someone was watching me. And then there were voices...Someone was calling out for me...for the...for the _real _me..."

"Hermione—"

"Someone knows my secret," the brunette cut across the comfort Harry was trying to give her; tears in her eyes that were a second away from being shed. "Someone knows...I just...I can't even remember anything! There was just a flash of purple and it just hurt. It hurt so much."

Harry and Ron didn't have to look at one another to know that they were both sporting the same look of dangerous determination. There was no way they were going to let this slide—both had been tormented by the sound of Hermione getting tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange during the war, and both had made a promise to themselves to never let anyone ever hurt her again.

"We're going to find who did this, 'Mione," Harry once again was the one to speak. Ron was completely still on the left side of the girl's hospital bed; his easily-ignited anger bubbling already. "I swear it."

"That's enough." With her firm eyes narrowed, Professor McGonagall took a step forward to the bed; making herself known again. "I assure you, Mister Potter, that we're going to find whoever attacked Miss Granger. You will have nothing to do with it." The Chosen One was about to protest but the scolding expression that took over the professor's face shut him up. "Now, I'll escort you to your lessons. Say your goodbyes; Miss Granger needs to rest."

Saying their goodbyes to their best friend—Harry giving her a kiss on the forehead and Ron giving her another caring smile—the Headmistress was quick to shoo them out the door. And as she assumed that she had gathered all the students visiting Hermione, she had forgotten about the one that was lurking in the background during the intimate and fast interaction between the Golden Trio.

And she hadn't been the only one. Hermione had looked sadly at the retreating figures of her two friends and clutched onto her white sheets. She had closed her eyelids, the headache still throbbing at the sides of her skull. She was tempted to sleep, to relieve herself of the discomfort naturally since Madam Pomfrey was nowhere in sight so she could ask for a potion, but that action was interrupted as a voice echoed in the lonely Hospital Wing.

"You could look less ashamed to be related to me." It started off slow, almost indifferent and cold, but Blaise knew it was not going to stay that way for long. He felt frustration stir underneath his skin, making his fists tingle with a longing to punch something until it was bruised or in powder.

Her eyes opened immediately. And like the previous weeks, she really wished she was not looking at the Slytherin's face; though this time it was for a completely different reason. She had been avoiding him since the first night back to the castle because she was afraid of what being around him might bring, but now she saw another outcome of what was brought up by avoiding him.

He was hurt, she could see that much in his green eyes. He was trying his hardest to hide it, to maintain that Slytherin mask that they all sported so people wouldn't know that they felt. But they did, and Blaise felt. He felt rejected.

"Blaise, it's not...it's not like that—"

"Yes it is!" And that was his boiling point. "You hate being a Zabini! You look like someone is ripping your heart out every time you think about it! I knew it wasn't going to be easy to accept it, but I didn't expect you to be a fucking liar!"

She cringed. Her headache was not going to be smoothed over any time soon.

"You said you were going to try, Hermione, but all you've done is avoid me!"

"I haven't—"

"Yes you have!" He was not going to take any of her sugarcoating. Blaise always knew the truth. No one ever got one over him, and she wouldn't be the first. "I'm not daft! I know you're afraid that I'll out you, but I wouldn't bloody well do that! You're my _sister_, for Slytherin's fucking sake!

"And then you get hurt, and the first people that old hag McGonagall goes to are Potter and the Weasel?! And they're the only ones you bother to see in a room! Well, open your eyes, Hermione, I'm here too! I fucking care too! I'm your brother! Not Boy Wonder! _I'm_ your family!"

If someone was to look at this situation from a distant point, one would see that the boy was practically shaking with his aggravation; that his emerald-colored gaze was wide and roaring with things he tended to hide behind walls of defense; that his chest was heaving for the air that he released when he was shouting. From her hospital bed, the girl looked completely terrified and guilty. Her brown eyes were filled with tears, and her bottom lip quivered with the indication that she was going to lose it soon.

Both new-found siblings stared directly into each others eyes and felt the tension in the room thicken. The fact was that Blaise had lost his cool, that he'd dropped down his cool exterior to release all the uncharacteristic feelings the brunette caused in him. And the next truth was that Hermione _did _feel horrible; that she didn't, in fact, have anything to excuse her behavior with. The resentment she felt for being tied to the Zabinis was not rested upon Blaise but on his parents. He hadn't had a choice over this like she did.

And he was her brother. He was her biological brother...

"I'm sorry," she was the first to break the silence; her voice cracking as she did so. "I'm sorry, Blaise. It's just that I'm scared, alright. You can't expect...I can't just get over this...over me not being Hermione Granger in such a short time. And, yes, I'm guilty for holding on to my old life, and I...You have to understand that I can't lose that, Blaise. I can't. That's mine...That's not Aria's, that's not yours, it's mine; it's _Hermione's_."

The Slytherin crossed his arms over his chest. His overwhelmed expression had gone from being that to slowly freezing into nothing.

With a cringe, the soreness all over her body reacting, she managed to push herself onto a full sitting position. She worked on her breathing for a few seconds, passing the oxygen through her teeth as the pain simmered down before she spoke again.

"Harry and Ron are mine too, Blaise. They're my family, from the very beginning," she said to him straightforwardly. "Nothing will ever change that, not you or your parents. But you're right...You're absolutely right. You're my brother; by blood and all. And I should've never...It's not your fault. I'm sorry. I didn't want to hurt you, Blaise...I just..." She had to stop, those tears finally fell down her cheeks.

Making a disgusted face as the girl on the hospital bed buried her face between her palms, shoulders shaking with her guilty cries, Blaise rolled his eyes to himself as he took unwilling steps forward. He hated emotions, honestly; and he really hated sobbing more.

But like he'd said to himself before, this just wasn't any annoying witch crying her eyes out. No, this was his annoying witch-of-a-sister crying her eyes out. And because she was tied to him, because she was a part of him, he had to try to get over his disgust at the reactions of sensitive girls.

And honestly, though he was mad at her, he couldn't stay so for very long. He wanted to curse her, yes, but someone else already had. And that was not okay in his books. His sister had been attacked by someone—someone who was good as dead once Blaise and his father found out who it was—and she didn't need more stress added onto her aching shoulders.

"I don't really like you right now, Hermione," he said flatly as he walked over to her side. Hesitantly, like if he was afraid he'd break her, he put a hand on her shaking shoulders, "but despite the rumours that circle this school, I can actually feel concern for something other than my appearance. And I feel it for you at the current moment." There was a pause, and then with the same hesitation like how he'd touched her, he said: "and I was scared when I heard McGonagall say you'd been hurt...I care about you. Even though you don't about me."

Sniffling, Hermione looked up with crying eyes to stare at the boy beside her. "I care, Blaise."

"No, Hermione, you don't."

"I do, though," she continued. "I don't like what your surname represents for me, but I care about you, Blaise. You're my brother; it's automatic."

Blaise narrowed his eyes at her. "It's forced for you, not automatic. I had an entire year after I found out the truth to learn to care about you. That's true and honest, yours is just guilt."

Another round of tears fell through the girl's lashes. "I want to try, Blaise. I want...I want us to be proper siblings. I want to accept that you're my brother."  
"We'll see," was what he responded to her. And even though his response was more of a resenting brush-off, he felt the oddest surge of something bubbly poke at his heart. It sent an amusing, silly thought to his brain—it told him there was still a chance to get what he wanted. There was still hope that his sister was somewhere inside the brunette; not just the annoying, goody-too-shoes bookworm.

Without giving himself a moment to think it through, Blaise copied an action straight from Potter and used it for himself. He grabbed one of Hermione's hands, lacing his fingers through hers, and he sat himself at the little space left at the side of her bed. And to his slight surprise, Hermione squeezed his fingers after a silent second; even scooting to the side to give him more room.

If someone would see the scene from a distant point in that moment, they would've seen that Hermione rested her back onto the mattress, cuddling into Blaise's side; her eyelids closing and her breathing rough from the ache in her bones as the boy hummed something unimportant under his breath.

It was awkward and foreign, but it was the first attempt of comfort between brother and sister.

* * *

**AN: Now we're moving on, am I right? Right?! Lol. **

**Anyway, it's to move the story along. So, for those who want more distress or rebellion from Hermione's part, it's probably not going to happen as much as you think it's fitted.  
**

**ALSO, for my lovely Dramione fans, I'm getting there! Baby steps. Lol. But there should be a lil' something something next chapter. Until then, thank you all for reading and reviewing! All of you are so lovely to me in your comments. (:  
**


	9. In the Snake Pit

**Lover of the Light**

**Chapter Eight: **In the Snake Pit**  
**

There was chitter-chatter everywhere, but that's exactly what she expected from the students of Hogwarts: sitting, eating, laughing, arguing, studying aloud, exiting and entering the Great Hall. For the most part, she could see and even feel the calmness, the happiness in the air. It was another week, new and safe, and everyone was content with the way things were progressing. That much had been evident from the very start of term. And she would've followed the crowd too—if she was not looking at every face around her and trying to decipher who cursed her; who knew her secret.

It took three days before she was discharged from the Hospital Wing and she was pleasantly surprised that it had been kept hushed up and no one was coming up to her and asking her what'd happened. She figured that they didn't want to cause a commotion: Brightest Witch of the Age attacked inside the walls of Hogwarts. The scandal was within that sentence alone; there was no way they were going to risk an outbreak of worry and question amongst students or parents over the protection inside the castle.

The only ones who knew about her being in the Hospital Wing were her two best friends, Blaise, Ginny, Luna and Parvati. It was very surprising to know that her roommate had not babbled about it the second she was told where she was—which apparently she'd bombarded Ginny for an explanation when Hermione didn't show up to sleep—but it was also very warming to know that the girl was genuinely concerned and thinking of others. On the other hand, she was told that Ginny had gone completely frozen from the moment Harry had told her and Luna where she was. She had gone to the Hospital Wing and begged for forgiveness more than three times. It wasn't her fault, Hermione knew that much, and she reassured the redhead of that every time she apologized.

Though one would assume that it was Hermione's reassurance to make Ginny feel better, it was actually Harry's understanding that smoothed the redhead over. Harry had to sit her down and tell her that he knew how it felt, to bring Hermione around and then have her be attacked; he knew how painfully guilty it was to know that she'd been hurt. But admirably enough, Harry had explained to Ginny that some things are just out of your control and you're not held responsible for those.

It had made her smile that day, watching them melt into each other, another experience tying them together. (Even one as upsetting as her attack.) It reassured Hermione of the fact that Harry and Ginny were meant to be. If only those two—mainly Harry—would speed along the process to get to their fairytale ending. But the stupid _boy _in Harrywas wasting time in trying to win her over; like if he'd lost her in the first place.

"I just want to give it time," Harry had said when he sat with her in an empty common room the previous night. "I want to give her space, to let her know that she has options. I want her to see if she still wants me."

Hermione had just shaken her head in that I-pity-your-gender way and continued to check his Charms homework.

Another upsetting issue that was also currently resting on her shoulders was Deon Zabini's fight with McGonagall to interfere with the security in the castle. Though Hermione could say she understood, in a very reluctant way, _why _the man was so insisting that Hogwarts gain more security, to even go as far as to have a private Auror investigate the matter of who attacked her, Hermione didn't want the man involved with anything. This wasn't his problem—he was just the cause of it.

Though she had been thoroughly annoyed with the Headmistress for contacting the Zabinis about her attack, Hermione had also been very grateful that the woman hadn't let it slip to the Grangers about what'd happened to her. She knew that the primary reason for that was that the Grangers had no legal rights over her anymore and that the Zabinis—as alleged parents—were the ones with priority, but nonetheless she was glad they were kept in the dark.

It made it easier to lie to them.

_Dearest Hermione,_

_I'm very happy to hear that the new term is going smoothly for you, just like we both knew it would be. I'm sure that Harry especially is enjoying his quiet days, though I'm also certain that boy will find himself in some mishap to get into. Some people just attract trouble, even if they don't mean to. Preferably this time it's something teenage-related, like girl problems or a bad case of acne. _

_Also, over your sentiments on not being named Head Girl, though I sympathize with you greatly, because we know you deserve it very much so, I'm also glad you didn't get it. We know you can juggle anything, sweetheart, but maybe you can take this year to be a regular student. Go to classes, do your homework, spend time with your friends, and maybe get yourself a boyfriend; you know, the like. You deserve some quiet, some normalcy..._

_Anyway, things in the office are going well. We hired a new secretary, someone recommended to us by your Uncle Steve. Richard was very hesitant, with good reason as you know, but this girl is very capable. She's really surprising us. _

_With the matter of Richard, Hermione...I've given him your letters. It's been extremely tough on him, sweetheart, I can't tell you how so and I won't try to. Richard knew all along that someday this might happen, but I think he forgot about it along the road of the years. But he is still your father, and he loves you. We will always love you._

_Hope you're well,_

_Mother Jean Granger._

Staring down at the letter she'd gotten from the muggle world the day before, Hermione chuckled with sadness as she reread it for the hundredth time.

How could things be this different? How could they have gone from a loving family to her father not responding to her letters? How did he end up needing time to get over the hurt of their lack of blood ties? How did her mother end up identifying herself as Jean Granger at the end of her letters? And why did she have to desperately cling onto their assurance that they still loved her?

Cutting through the frustration and the already stinging tears in her eyes, Hermione was joined on her lonely corner of the Gryffindor table by someone she very least expected.

"Chin up, Granger. You look like your Hippogriff just died—or you've just been failed on an exam." Taking the liberty to do so, Theodore Nott sat on the open seat opposite her. He wasn't phased by the questioning raise of her left brow or the glancing a few near Gryffindors were giving him by his action. "Merlin, did you really fail an exam?"

The brunette frowned at the dark-haired boy. "What are you doing here, Nott?" She didn't bother answering his question, it was a ridiculous thing to ask in the first place. She instead dropped her uncertainty as she folded her muggle-mother's letter into a neat square and then tucked it into the pocket of her robes.

The Slytherin smiled a little as he watched her. "Haven't seen you around for a few days, and when I finally get to see the top of those brown curls, you're isolated and looking like you're on the verge of hanging yourself. Just curious and slightly concerned."

"Slightly?"

"I'm still working on the caring-for-someone-else-that-isn't-me part," he told her sincerely, a smile still tugging at the corner of his lips. "And as your new acquaintance, I just wanted to make sure you're alright." He leaned a little closer to her to whisper, sliding his hands on the foreign tabletop and almost touching her fingertips. "I don't know if you've noticed, but you're scaring some people."

Pulling her hands away from his almost-near ones, Hermione sat taller for a moment to take a good look around her. Previously, she hadn't noticed if anyone was looking back at her while she observed them, as she looked for tell-tale signs on someone's face to see if they were the ones that attacked her. She hadn't processed her isolation, but Nott was right: her housemates were sitting as far away from her as possible, like she had a plague.

"Some people don't like to have their parade be rained on," the boy spoke once more, his eyes still very much glued to any little movement she made. "Survivors of war included."

Hermione stared right back at a Gryffindor girl giving her an awkward glance for a few uneasy seconds; her eyes met the dark ones of the Slytherin across from her in the next fragment of time. "Then why are you here?"

He shrugged a little as he played with the end of her fork, making it tip up and down at the edge of her plate. "Who says shades of grey can't be beautiful?"

Their eyes connected at the very instant he finished his comment. It felt like her brown eyes were being held captive in his bottomless pools of black. She could feel a strong surge, a strong bond, a pull that gave her the sensation like she could see comfort in his shadows. It was strange, unknown, and it terrified her. It was like her self-will had been stripped.

She cleared her throat. "You can run along now, Nott. I promise to leave before I scare more innocent children and find some lonely classroom to pass the time, then."

"Now, what kind of acquaintance would I be if I let you do that?" He clucked his tongue at her in a toying, disappointed manner. "No, I think we should take a walk around the gardens together before our Herbology lesson starts."

"I don't—"

"Come on, Hermione," he interrupted her rejection, his voice warming up. "I'm trying to distract you over whatever it is that's making you look so helpless."

"You are?" She asked hesitantly, eyebrow back up and raised with question.

"And I _might _want to bribe you into being my partner for Herbology this week. I worked with Finnegan and Patil last week and those two almost caused me to resort to my Slytherin ways. If I have to work with Gryffindors, I mind as well will work with one that's absolutely brilliant."

There it went again—control. Whenever Theodore Nott appeared Hermione felt it, her control coming back and filling her body like it was blood that she needed to function. He gave her options, he gave her a chance to make him believe that nothing had changed inside of her when it really had. But he didn't know, he didn't know who she really was, that Aria Zabini lived within her. He just wanted to befriend Hermione Granger, he just wanted to talk to that girl from the past that no one realized didn't exist in the first place.

"You have fifteen minutes to convince me," she said to the Slytherin with an air of friendliness. "I hope you've prepared for that."

Grinning grandly as she stood from her house-table, Nott was quick to gather her books before she did. "I do have something up my sleeve," he replied.

With a twinkle in his dark eyes, Hermione ignored that bit and her surroundings as she and the Slytherin headed towards the doors of the Great Hall together. And because she was, because she shut off the background that possibly contained her attacker in any of the house-tables, Hermione didn't notice the glance between Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott. She didn't see the deep and utter hatred that gleamed out of her brother's eyes and the hostile understanding that shot out from Nott's dark ones.

**X**

In the almost eight years of knowing her he was used to seeing three certain feelings take her face hostage: all-knowing, scolding, and loving. The fact that he was watching her pace up and down, up and down, up and down on a little patch of corridor-floor with nervousness a few feet away from him made him very much amused. It wasn't even that type of nervousness where she was fearing for his life or anxious over getting her exams back, but it was the type that made one believe that she was about to face her worst fears.

"You look like I did when I was about to face that Hungarian Horntail in the TriWizard Tournament."

She was down her little pathway and then she spun on her heels, scowling. His mocking smile deflated slightly, but there was enough of it for her to see. She marched her way closer. "Do you find this amusing, Harry James Potter?"

Harry's stare tensed as the brunette pointed a finger at him. It was as equally dangerous as having her wand-tip directed at him—or worse, actually. "I'm just saying that you're overreacting." And maybe that wasn't the right choice of words but they had already slipped out before he thought it over. "Meaning that you're not about to face a monster, 'Mione. You shouldn't be as panicked as you are."

She grunted at him with an almost cynical distaste, so unlike herself. "Oh, well of course! I have no reason at all to be anxious about descending to my doom! There's absolutely no danger at all in what I'm about to do, so let's just keep laughing at Hermione!" Her best friend was about to say something but she cut across him quickly, "and now that I remember the TriWizard Tournament thoroughly, you didn't listen at all to me then! I _told _you to prepare, Harry! I told you to practice, practice, pra—"

"For Salazar's sake, _shut up_."

Before he could be chewed up alive for something that he'd neglected to do almost four years back, Harry was never happier in his lifetime to see a Slytherin. So when his best friend spun around in her heels to glare dangerously at whoever interrupted her mid rant, the Chosen One took a deep breath and put distance between him and the Brightest Witch of the Age as a safety precaution.

"That right there is the reason why a part of me continues to be appalled at the idea of being related to you." If there was anything that anyone had to know about Blaise Zabini, it was the fact that he was nothing but blunt. Sure, there were times when he dabbled in lies to save his own skin or to torment someone, but usually honesty was always the way to go for him. "You can be a little McGonagall, honestly."

Instead of responding with a scary remark that he or Ron would usually get if they ever dared to talk back to her in such manner, Harry just saw Hermione grow instantly nervous all over again. She stiffened her shoulders, standing a little taller since the first glance at Zabini, and her hands twitched at her sides and a shaky swallow passed her throat.

Looking away from Hermione, Zabini proceeded to throw a mighty glare at the Boy Who Lived. "Why are you here, Potter?"

"Just hanging out." Leaning against the corridor wall, Harry crossed his arms over his school-robes casually; all while smirking at the dark-skinned Slytherin. "Thinking I might join this little experience—as support for Hermione, that is."

"The hell you won't!"

Harry chuckled. "Hear that, 'Mione? Your brother doesn't want me to be there when the snakes begin to descend."

Though they were in a lonely hall, Hermione still had the reflex to look around her to make sure no one was within earshot to hear her secret being echoed around the marbled walls like it was something unimportant. Sucking up the unsettling feeling she'd been carrying all day—since Blaise cornered her on the way to Potions class and called in for a promise she made idiotically—Hermione frowned disapprovingly at both boys as she turned to them. "Get rid of the hostility, will you." She was back to her parental self. "Blaise, we've talked about this before, okay. Harry is my best friend. And you," she turned to the Gryffindor boy as the Slytherin rolled his eyes, "don't add to the situation, please. I appreciate you being here and all, but just _go_."

Harry wasn't offended one bit by her exasperated tone. Though Zabini hated him for having such bonds with Hermione, Harry was on his own little mission to smooth over the tension among the two new siblings. Hermione was always trying to ease rough situations for him and it was now time that he repaid the favor. He knew she'd object if he volunteered publicly for such task, but then again, she always took charge of his problems and went full-speed in fixing them despite his warnings not to get involved.

Though it wasn't desired at all, Harry was more equipped than Hermione to understand the meaning of the opportunity that the twists of Fate gave her. He knew that it mustn't be easy to learn that who she thought were her real parents weren't that at all, but she was given something that he wasn't going to get, that many people never got—more family. Not just that, Hermione got sent a family that actually _wanted _to be a part of her, that loved her. Though Zabini was arrogant and too poised for his liking, Harry could see the flicker of pure affection the Slytherin had for his best friend.

And if there was something war should've taught all of them, it was the importance of love and family.

Raising a brow at the strange smile that had taken over Harry's face before he sauntered away with a wave, Hermione shook her head as if she was shaking off the tingles of hesitance and jitters of nervousness.

Blaise snorted with disapproval at her reaction, even rolling his eyes as he grabbed one of her hands and he steered her down the dungeon they were in. And just as her hand started sweating in his, Blaise said a latin-rooted word and the wall before them started to part.

She really didn't want to do this. She didn't even know why it had to come to _this_ of all things, really. Did it make any sense? No, of course not. He was pushing her, Hermione was well aware of that. Blaise was cunning and smart—he wanted to see how far she'd go for him. She would've complimented him for such wit, but she also didn't like the fact that she had to prove herself to him in the first place...

But how could she have proved herself in any other way, right? This started because she couldn't see Blaise as a brother and that had hurt his feelings. Family love is supposed to be automatic, like caring for a cousin that's a complete nuisance to you despite that. And she did care about Blaise, he was an innocent in the mess her life had become—yet she'd run to Harry in a heartbeat. And there wasn't any fairness to that at all, was there?

With a sigh of defeat, Hermione looked up to meet Blaise's eyes. And once brown and green sparkled in some sort of truce, in an acceptance that there was no other way around this, Blaise's hold on the girl's wrist loosened and it fell to hold her hand instead. Both then stepped into the opening of the wall.

She had heard a description from Ron and Harry back in Second Year, but they hadn't given justice to the _feel _of the Slytherin Common Room at all. Contrasting to the Gryffindor Common Room's warmth, home-like, light and coziness, the Slytherins liar was cold, dim with tints of green, too refined-looking, and hostile. It didn't appear to be someplace for students to relax and gather together to chat or study, it was like something taken out from a pureblood mansion.

The deeper Blaise led her into the room the more she noticed. The walls were stone-made, some parts smooth and others cobbled. There were archways that resembled something inspired by colosseums, black chandeliers hanging from the dark ceiling, and vines growing in twists around giant stone-posts.

She didn't realize she was being led down a few steps as her eyes focused on a few portraits hanging darkly against the walls of the common room. One in particular that caught her eye was the one of Severus Snape. He stood in his portrait, lit by moonlight, and had his arms crossed over his usual black robes. His painted black eyes found hers, but there was no question at all in them as she proceeded further into the room with Blaise pulling at her hand. She felt a surge of courage run deep in her bones from the eye-contact she'd made with her deceased Potions professor. It made her realize, even if for the briefest second, that loyalty, bravery, and even goodness can also come from people with the Dark Mark branded in their arms.

Blinking away and readjusting her vision, Hermione noticed that Blaise and her had come to a stop. And once she realized that they were standing before a group of people, her ears also took in the fact that the Slytherin Common Room was deadly silent; nothing but the wood burning in the fireplace was heard.

Tension automatically flew around, wrapping around every single person in the common room when the fact that the Gryffindor Princess was in their territory settled after their conversation died down.

On a black leather couch, Gregory Goyle stared wide-eyed, embarrassment and shame somehow coloring his cheeks pink. Next to him, Daphne Greengrass rose a blonde brow, her dark eyes narrowing at the direction of the newcomers with a bit of muffled and cold confusion. And also seated in that couch with Goyle and Greengrass, Pansy Parkinson masked her own share of confusion as her gaze lowered and focused on Blaise and Hermione's hooked hands. An understanding then proceeded to flicker across her pale features; like she'd come up with a conclusion.

On the corner of the couch opposite the three Slytherins, Theodore Nott sat by himself. Questioning had also taken over his features for a split second, but before anyone could see it, the boy had just let his eyes glimmer and his lips tug on a smile that he knew the Gryffindor girl would find familiar.

Ever the silent one since their return to complete their Seventh Year, Malfoy watched with no expression at all as Zabini and the girl marched their way into the common room. He had been the first to spot them from his lonesome armchair by the fireplace as those around him talked about things he cared not far. He swallowed roughly, trying to subdue a foreign feeling that demanded interaction with the girl.

Panic rose inside Hermione's chest. "Blaise," she hissed as she looked up at him and away from his house-mates, "why am I here?"

It didn't take a genius to figure out that she was filling up with dread at the idea that those sitting before her were about to learn the secret she'd been trying to undo since the moment it was told to her. She barely had enough courage to remind herself every day that she was truly a Zabini—she was not about to give that grudging acceptance to Slytherins for them to exploit.

"I want you to meet my friends." He gave her hand a painful squeeze.

"—We're your friends now?"

At the comment that had shot out from Daphne's mouth, Blaise narrowed his green eyes in lack of patience. "Shut it, Greengrass."

Hermione shook her head. "Blaise, seriously. Why am I here?"

Blaise was more annoyed now—she just couldn't go with the flow, could she? "Look, these idiots are the closest I'm going to get to having friends. Not because I can't make any, but because no one in this castle is appealing or interesting enough for me to befriend them, so they're substitutes until I can come across human beings of my liking and standards."

"Charming, Zabini," Greengrass huffed, frowning at the dark-skinned boy.

Blaise ignored the girl and continued to look at Hermione with an almost ordering glint to his gaze. "Let's pretend they really are my friends, a part of my life—accept them as such. There are things about me that you don't like, them especially, but you can't change that. Sound familiar?"

_Harry, Ron and the Weasleys_—Hermione almost laughed at the true brilliance her half-brother had. He had dragged her into the snake pit just to teach her a lesson, and even to repay her back for making him try to accept the fact that the people she considered family were going to remain so; despite his dislike for them.

"So...they're your friends?"

Blaise almost smiled at her resignation. "Everyone except for Nott." And then that bizarre feeling that suggested glee was transformed to irritation as he threw daggers at the particular Slytherin in the midst of trying to get his sister to fully accept him into her life. "What the hell are you doing here, Nott? I don't recall asking you to show up."

"I guess I didn't get your threat to scram from the common room like the rest of the House," Nott replied, his smile not dropping at all as he looked at the two standing.

"Consider this one, then: Get the fuck—"

"_Blaise_," Hermione cut across the Slytherin next to her, scowling. "Don't be so mean. And you honestly made everyone leave? If it was that much of an inconvenience to bring me here you shouldn't have in the first place."

Watching with more curiosity and confusion as Zabini zipped his lips and let the Gryffindor Princess scold him, Daphne Greengrass called for attention as she came up with a theory. "Zabini, you had us wait for you because you said you had something to tell us? So is this it? You're with Granger now?"

Pansy perked her ears at the noises in the common room, more interested in the conversation now than before when all she'd been doing was processing some thoughts over the situation.

Hermione made a disgusted face and pulled her hand away from Blaise. At her reaction, the boy just snorted. "She wishes," was his response to the blonde witch. "Hermione and I recently decided to leave the past behind us and be friends."

"Friends?" Greengrass scoffed at the word. "Why on Earth would Granger want to be friends with _you_?"

"Do try to not sound like a bitter ex, Greengrass," Blaise said with a condescending tone. "And again, shut it. It's none of your business why Hermione and I've decided to become friends. You're job is just to sit there and let her see that not all Slytherins are particularly horrible."

As Greengrass was still glaring at his statement of her being bitter, Hermione was led by Blaise to the open seats on the couch next to Nott. "I can see that, actually," she mumbled. "You two dating."

"Really? No one else could. It was a bloody disaster since the day it begun." Still smiling, Nott angled his body to face the brunette despite the warning expression on Zabini's face not to.

"It was just a fling. It meant nothing."

Nott chuckled mockingly at the blonde girl's quick remark. "A fling lasts a week, Greengrass. You and Zabini had a catastrophic relationship for almost two years."

"Why'd they break up?" Hermione asked for the sake of not letting an awkward silence to occur.

She had no such luck, however. The room went silent again the moment she had asked her question, and the Gryffindor among Slytherins could see that the tension grew thicker as everyone avoided eye-contact with Blaise.

"I was too good for her," was the boy's response as his shoulders stiffened. Greengrass didn't bother to defend herself from his degrading and Hermione wondered why that was. "Anyway," he continued with a clearing of his throat. "Since we're starting anew here, I want all of you to tell Hermione how brilliant you think she is. It'll make the transition easier if you all get it out of your systems that a Muggle-born saved your asses during the war."

The awkwardness just kept on coming. "Blaise," Hermione was again stressing his name like she was parenting a young child, "stop it."

"It's part of the truth, isn't it? And when the entire truth comes out they're all going to eat every insult they—"

"I think you're brilliant, Hermione." Putting a hand on the brunette's shoulder as she grew redder on her lovely cheeks with what Zabini was ranting about—making everyone more uncomfortable—Nott was still the epitome of smiles and friendliness. "But I've already told you that. Though, a reminder wouldn't hurt, now would it? You're particularly alluring."

Looking thoroughly disgusted at the embarrassing words Nott was spewing, Blaise rose from his seat and tugged on Hermione's arm with speed and strength; sending her flying backwards. "Oh, shut the fuck up, Nott. I told you, _scram_!"

Hermione stopped listening to whatever crude and uncivilized remarks her brother was throwing at Theo—she was caught in a place that froze her completely. After Blaise had rudely launched her off her seat, Hermione had landed in a cage composed of strong arms and chest, warm hands, and that overflowed with the smell of ice and mint.

Draco Malfoy was staring down at her as she looked at him through her lashes. His molten-metal orbs were overpowering, uncomfortably intense, and digging past her plain brown with something that suggested that he was having an inner-turmoil. His hands were at both her sides, just beneath her breasts, and it sent tingles of panic into her skin.

"Sorry," she muttered in a barely audible tone as she pulled away from him.

And just as Blaise pulled her down on the opposite end of the couch, away from Nott as he ordered Goyle to start talking about something else, Hermione swore she heard the Slytherin Prince say, "I'm sorry too."

* * *

**AN: Well, HELLO, my lovely readers! I'm sorry for the long wait once more, and for a filler chapter, but I gave you a bit of interaction between our handsome Draco and the lovely Hermione. Do you forgive me? (:0 **

**I promise that by next chapter I'll give you all what you want! PROMISE! Until then, hope you liked this. (:  
**


	10. Truce

**Lover of the Light**

**Chapter Nine: **Truce**  
**

If there was something she'd say that she disliked about herself, it'd be the fact that she's stubborn. Most people would think that it's because she likes to be right a hundred percent of the time, but that's not entirely true. Though she didn't like to be challenged when someone wanted to change the accurateness of a solid _fact_, she really did appreciate a person's eagerness to get her to see things from a different angle. She was stubborn because she believed irrevocably in the things she was passionate about—and that within itself was a flaw.

She had spent almost two months sulking—going as far as doing something _ridiculous _as wishing upon a star every night in hopes that she'd wake up Hermione Granger again. But that wasn't her reality in those two months, not even now. She was Aria Zabini, no matter what her stubborn mind told her. And though she didn't want to be, her stubbornness to resume her old life had just hurt in the process.

She'd hurt herself by tormenting herself, by distancing herself from certain friends, by crying every day and night, hiding from watchful eyes, and straining relationships by trying to be Hermione Granger, the Muggle-born with Dentists as parents. And as if that wasn't painfully exhausting enough, she'd hurt others by that hardheadedness—and there was nothing worse for someone with a heart and soul like hers than to cause someone else pain. He was a true Slytherin at heart, but she'd stomped on her half-brother's heart without remorse or a second thought in those weeks of seclusion and rejection of the reality she'd been handed.

One of the greatest challenges is to try and change a stubborn person's mind, but Hermione was pushing herself to do so. It was hard, given her raging love for her previous life and history, but she was trying. If she couldn't do it for herself then she tried for others, and that somehow bullied her stubbornness to melt away millimeter by millimeter on a good day.

That effort had started because of Blaise.

After that very awkward meeting with his Slytherin acquaintances, after seeing the lengths the boy was going to so she'd so much as give him a square-inch inside her heart that he could call his own, Hermione knew that she had to start trying to live with what she had now. And that was him, a brother. So after the most uncomfortable hour of her life, after Hermione and the Slytherins had bid each other a farewell—Goyle going as far as bowing—and Blaise had walked her back to the Gryffindor tower, she had decided to spend a day with him every week. He'd been insulted that she was making him a schedule, but he'd been quick to let it go when he told her that if that was her form of working on their relationship then he'd take it. As such, she'd stopped hiding in classrooms, her common room, or in other locations in the castle. She took walks with him, studied with him in the library, paired up in classes they had together on occasions, and sometimes they'd hang out by the Black Lake on the weekend when she wasn't stressing over school. And those were the moments when they really started getting to know each other and she found that though he was too arrogant and demanding, he was also full of charm, unsettled grief, roaring laughter, and a cunning intelligence. He was also the intermediate between Hermione Granger and Aria Zabini; giving her a background of their family.

"Did she get along with Deon?" She remembered a conversation she had with him once, when they sat beside the lake together with bottles of Butterbeer and sandwiches he'd sworn he did not have the elves make. "Your mum?"

She noticed that about Blaise, that he tensed up, squaring his shoulders, whenever someone mentioned his deceased mother. It always took him a few seconds to let his bones loosen. "Yeah, why wouldn't she have? They shared a handsome son, you know. Look at my face and tell me I don't cause serenity."

"I just meant that...Well, we're about the same age, but Deon was with Allegra before I was...conceived," she explained herself after rolling her eyes at his cockiness. "Most women don't tend to get along with men that do that to them."

Blaise had just laughed loudly at her phrasing as he put his hands behind his head, lying himself down on the grass. "I see Father nor Allegra gave you the details about that bit," he replied with his amused tone.

A minute died in their silence. "Well, aren't you going to tell me?"

He had scoffed. "No."

"Oh, come on, Blaise! I'm not about to go asking them to tell me. It's clear he's embarrassed by it; doesn't want to give me the bad idea or something."

"That or he doesn't want his daughter to know he had sex with two women about the same time. Real class act, our dad." She had reached over and smacked him hard on the chest for his crudeness. "_Oi_!"

She had given him one more smack when he'd muttered a curse word. "Just tell me."

Blaise had puffed out air through his mouth, making it sound like he'd grown annoyed in the tiny second after she'd completed her sentence. His emerald eyes had narrowed, forehead creased with a frown, but he'd continued to stare at the gloomy sky above them. "Fanatic Pureblood families are the same in every country, Hermione; there are certain rules, beliefs, and duties installed in the younger generations. One of those being arranged marriages—a duty for women and a contract for the men. Women brought respect and insured that the blood remained pure, and the men were responsible to expand their family's fortune and produce a pureblood heir. It was the norm, and our father and my mother weren't the exception to that."

She had been about to go in a rampage about that horrid tradition when the boy continued on. "Silvana Rosso, that was my mother's maiden name. The Rosso and the Zabini family were great family friends, mainly because the two men in charge of those families four centuries ago were business partners. In what, I couldn't tell you. Nothing legal that's for sure. _Anyway_," he cleared his throat, like if he was trying to push the fact that both sides of his family were corrupt from the start of the ages. "When my mother was born her family drew up a contract that gave her to the first male heir born to the Zabinis, to bind the two families and so the Zabini heir could take control of the Rosso family's fortune since my grandparents had not produced a male heir.

"Time passed and all that rubbish, and my parents grew up together; knowing that when Father turned seventeen they were getting married. The child's crush they had on one another remained so, and when they became teenagers they knew for a fact that there was never going to be an attraction or intense love for one another, but they still had to keep to the contract...

"I won't tell you how Father and Allegra came to be an item, but to make the story short, Mother knew that they were meant to be. She loved Father purely and wanted the best for him so she helped him escape with Allegra to Britain—not without assuring that she got herself an heir and that she ended up as a victim and a devoted pureblood that was just disgraced by a Blood Traitor."

"Charming," Hermione had interrupted with a scoff, but Blaise had not taken offense by it.

Letting his slight amusement falter his irate expression for a moment, Blaise said, "Mum and Dad loved each other like childhood friends and they were there for one another throughout everything. He never left her alone, not even when she married and remarried the men that she did. Allegra and her never argued either—Mother always appreciated the fact that Allegra saw me as her son and that she took care of me. Can I say that I liked your mother? No, I can't. I was a bratty child that wanted his parents together, but..."

He had trailed off after that, lost in some thought as he closed his eyes for a moment. Hermione had just watched him in that fragment of silent time; understanding him a little more. He didn't say it at all, not even after, but she knew that what he'd wanted to say was that he appreciated that his mother, Deon and Allegra tried to give him a proper family. Though she couldn't really see how, with his mother remarrying every few years and Deon caught in the Death Eater business, but they'd loved him entirely in the end.

With another escaped sigh that held a secret resignation, Blaise had opened those emerald eyes of his and he flashed them to his sister. She remembered feeling confused by the look in his gaze, like he didn't like how the story ended.

"Marriage contracts are just a mess, Hermione," was all he had said before he had proceeded to ask her—for the thousandth time—why she was friends with Harry and Ron.

While she had been working on letting someone in, Hermione had also been learning to let someone go.

A relationship she had strained—adding to its already coarse deflect—was the one in regards with Ronald. She had tried to hold on to him since summer, but she hadn't noticed that she had lost him romantically then. She had to be true to herself in the past weeks; accepting the fact that he didn't define her as Hermione Granger, and that it was perfectly alright to mourn the love she'd felt for him for years. And because she'd decided to acknowledge the fact that their could've-been love had ceased to have potential because he was suffering in his own share of grief, she knew that she couldn't keep adding distance to the friendship that had brought them together in the first place.

It had taken her a week after her acceptance to embrace what she had now, but Hermione had taken the giant step forward and had actually taken a seat with Harry and Ron in the library one night instead of secluding herself to a corner. Harry had been the first one to look up from his work, grinning at her with pride and relief. And once Ron had looked up as well, their eyes had met—blue and brown—Hermione had seen their history flash back and forth between them. Love connected them still, she'd seen that—it just was a different one now. With a smile of understanding from both parties, the Golden Trio had silently and magically become a whole again.

The only thing she'd been having trouble with was letting Deon and Allegra Zabini in. Her stubborn side always put up one hell of a fight when it came to them, refusing to see them as parents rather than the ones responsible for the facts of her life changing. She wanted to hate them, she really did, but she just found an ill-eased resentment against them. Blaise had continued to scold her, becoming the mature sibling in those occasions, and he continued to shove the _fact _that they were blood-tied to her into her brain.

She had never opened the letters the Zabinis sent her when the new term had began, but one night, after managing to sedate her stubborn mind, she'd sat in an empty common room and opened all of them. If it was from an outside perspective, Hermione would've felt sympathy for the parents—especially the mother—and the heartache every other letter contained when they wrote knowing she wouldn't answer back. It was by far the worst thing she'd done to another person, but she that stubborn side had reassured her that their pain mattered not.

Eventually, she wrote back. It had been the middle of October when she had, but it suddenly seemed like the time she'd spent ignoring them wasn't a factor at all when Mrs. Zabini replied within the following hour. The conversations in those letters weren't worth anything of value, but Hermione knew the woman enjoyed them nonetheless. They didn't talk about anything specific, nothing detailed that would scare Hermione off for the first couple of times, but then Mrs. Zabini had began talking about a party in the Zabini Estate.

Hermione's first reaction was to stop writing entirely once more, to push the woman away the centimeter she'd allowed her to approach, but Ginny had given her a smack beside the head and a frown that rivaled that of Molly Weasley's. The redhead had gone into a loud explanation how taking steps towards accepting the Zabini title started by actually putting it on.

And accepting that detail had been the greatest fight against stubborn and logical, but she'd gotten there with a massive headache. And that's exactly how Hermione ended up agreeing to spend her current Saturday morning looking for a dress in Hogsmeade with Ginny and Luna; followed by lunch with her half-brother in the Three Broomsticks to talk pureblood party etiquette. The joy.

"Embrace the title," she murmured to herself in a chant-like tone. "Embrace the title."

With her arms tightly crossed around her chest as she walked her way to Hogsmeade through the chilly, mid November weather, Hermione had to keep motivating herself so her feet would continue marching her forward. It was blatantly obvious that she in no way wanted to participate in the party the Zabinis were planning to host—in which she hadn't been given much detail of _why _it was being held in the first place—but it was a great feat when she got out of bed to look for a bloody dress for it.

"Stupid Blaise," she scoffed to herself. "Stupid Ginny."

It went without saying that she was terrified that Deon and Allegra Zabini were going to introduce her to their pureblood society, but she held childish hopes that it'd turn out to be a charity event in which the Brightest Witch of the Age happened to be 'casually' invited. Regardless of her fears, of course, she was going and holding her head up high. She wasn't a coward, now, was she?

"You are for this," she replied to her silent question. "You're terrified. Absolutely pathetic—" She stopped insulting herself when a shiver ran down her spine. It wasn't the shiver that was caused by frosty wind, that she was sure of. No, it was a reflex, a _sense _given to her by war, by being a warrior and knowing when she was in danger.

The wind had picked up, swooshing by her and freezing her face. She'd been certain that she'd been following a pack of Third Years, but she had found herself alone now. The pathway that was always littered with Hogwarts students was bare; feeling isolated and grand. There were no voices, just the rattling of the leaves and the buzzing of the wind.

"_Aria_."

Tidal waves of adrenaline flooded her internal system when deja vu hit her.

"_Aria_."

With her heart thumping at the cryptic voice that was echoing in her eardrums, trespassing into her head, Hermione managed to summon the war heroine in her, and like a general waiting for the first strike, her fighting tactics rose up from her memories.

She turned in an angle, refusing to turn in circles in whatever direction the voice was coming from. No, she wasn't going to make that mistake again. She wasn't going to let her guard down.

"_Aria_."

Her wand slipped out from inside her right sleeve and her fingers were quick and ready to hold on to her weapon steadily. She narrowed her eyes, perked her ears, settled her mind, ignored her pounding heart, and rose her wand into the air.

This was not happening to her again—they were not going to get the best of her. Whoever it was that knew her secret, whatever it was that was out to torture her, to hurt her, Hermione was going to get them.

"_Homenum __Rev_—" The incantation that was slipping from her mouth to find whoever was hiding in the field was rendered useless when a purple flash was sent her way.

If deja vu was anything to go by, Hermione knew that the hex that'd been thrown at her the first time was the one that been thrown at her now. As such, she knew the pain—remembered it setting her bones on fire, so she was quick in launching herself away from it.

From the ground, Hermione kicked herself back up and raised her wand at the figure in black that was now present. She couldn't see their face, but by the broad shoulders and built, she knew it was a man. He wore an oversized black sweatshirt, its hood covering most of his face and making it a shadow, but she could see the outline of a snarl.

She was about to wipe it off. "_Confringo_!"

Like she had, the man launched himself to the side; dodging her spell as he rose his wand and the same purple flash shot out of it.

With a nonverbal, Hermione deflected the curse and shot one out of her own. It hit the man on the shoulder, making him stumble on his step, but it had not distracted him at all. He must've cast a Shield Charm a second too late, where the hex had just graced him, but it'd still gone up and killed her hex.

With the outline of the snarl still the only expression visible from her attacker, Hermione didn't hear the spell that was cast by him, but she sure as hell barely skimmed it. She had crouched, bending at the knees, and the hex had blown bricks away from the wall behind her.

She had gone back to her full height the millisecond after, but she'd been too late then. That purple flash that she'd been dodging hit her; making her fly backwards and land on the shards of bricks, all while screaming at the internal pain the spell caused her.

She withered and groaned, shutting her eyes tight as she felt like she was being set on fire from her cells to the topmost layer of skin on her body. Too overwhelmed by the pain, she barely heard when the heavy panting of her attacker approached her. She hadn't even registered when he knelt beside her, gripping her by her curls with one hand because the next second the purple light had flashed against her closed eyelids and the pain was new once more.

It felt like a lifetime, feeling every atom explode into its very own raging, melting fire, but her eyes had shot open when it ended and she heard an echo of, "_Expelliarmus_!"

Her attacker flew away from her, and she didn't bother to register exactly where he'd landed or who had appeared. She could hear curses being shot out, but her mind didn't scan and identify anything else going on in the background when the cold wind started hitting her. Though the fire felt like it was coming from inside her, the wind gracing her skin felt like a bucket of cold water putting out those flames. She gasped for air, shivered and withered on the ground; her back digging into sharp fragments of the bricks that'd been blown up by her attacker.

In what felt like an eternal minute, she heard the distinctive sound of apparition. While still in pain, Hermione managed to lift the hand that was still clutching her wand and point it to the person that was now rushing to her.

"For fuck sakes." No curse however came from her part. Instead her wand was removed from her fingers, her hand carefully lowered, and a different wand had been pointed at her. "Hold still, Granger."

Draco Malfoy had made the pain go away with skill and concentrated silver eyes.

**X**

Her fingers shook as she clutched onto a teacup; the heat radiating out from it stung the thin skin of her fingertips, but she still held on. The steam of her chamomile tea rose and got lost towards the ceiling and even headed away behind her. There was people everywhere, she knew that, but everything else away from the table that she was sitting at didn't exist for her. She was only aware of the person before her, and she desperately wanted him to evaporate like the steam of her tea.

There was about a foot of distance between them, each seated at the furthest ends of the table they were sitting in, but she didn't think that was far enough. She knew he was looking at her, even as she looked down at the liquid in her teacup. She could feel his piercing gaze carve holes into her skin, making her grow rigid and uncomfortable when she pondered what he was thinking about.

They hadn't spoken and it was driving her mad. He had appeared out of the blue, _saving her life_, and when he assured himself silently that she was better, he helped her up and dragged her by the arm towards the direction of Hogsmeade. She hadn't protested or asked where he was taking her—she'd been too occupied feeling his warm hand touching her.

After several floating minutes, they arrived at Hogsmeade and she then had been directed inside a dark shop and then sat on a table. He had let go of her then, turning around on his heels and leaving her there. She hadn't known if that'd been it, if she was now alone and able to review what'd happened within the last half hour, but she had been joined at the table again; a teacup placed in front of her.

Her body had relaxed from the after-effects of the curse she'd taken, and that brilliant mind of hers was now churning the wheels; processing the attack. She looked up at that point, meeting those silver eyes that hadn't stopped watching her.

"—You need to head back."

"—Don't tell Blaise." Both had spoken at the same time, but they had both caught what the other had said.

Malfoy's blank, pale expression had somewhat gained an inch of a frown. "Don't tell Blaise?" He repeated. "You were _attacked_, Granger. Now is not the time to play the war hero. It's clear someone is out to get you."

"It was nothing," she muttered with an exasperated sigh. She knew there was an obvious true in his words, this was no longer a coincidence, but she didn't want to have anyone act as her shadow; monitoring her every move. She was going to take care of this on her own. She wasn't afraid. "I was just getting mugged. It happens."

The blonde boy now looked annoyed. He didn't find the fact that she took him as an idiot amusing. "As much as I doubt you have anything valuable to be stolen, Zabini still needs to be told. If you don't want to tell him, then at least go to your precious Potter and inform him that you're getting blasted everywhere you go on your own."

"Shut up," she hissed at him as she leaned forward, as if by doing so she was assuring herself that the people in other tables wouldn't hear. "Just keep your mouth zipped, Malfoy. You owe me as much."

"I owe you?" He was glaring now, throwing daggers dipped in venom in her direction. "I just _saved _your bloody life, Granger. And if something else happens to you, I'm not going to fall as an accomplice because you're deciding to be a martyr when something could've been done." A deeper frown creased his forehead now, his hands coming up to rest on the tabletop; then balling into fists. "I don't owe you, I owe Zabini the truth."

She squeezed the teacup with her weak fingers, frowning too as she leaned closer in. "We both know that's not true, Malfoy. I do thank you for helping me today, but you'll always owe me something. Don't forget that." She couldn't believe that had left her mouth—she didn't want anything from Malfoy, _ever_. She knew they had a terrible history, she knew what he'd done in the war, what he'd seen, but she had never once thought about collecting the debt he owed her. She had planned to forget about Draco Malfoy forever after she had testified in court for him, but obviously Fate had decided to switch things around on her. He was now twisted in the threads of her life.

"Why do you even care?" She breathed out, throwing her back against her chair as she watched his fists clench more, knuckles popping out because of her previous comment.

A tensed moment passed before he answered; one where he gritted his teeth and dislike flashed in his orbs. "Zabini and I are friends and you're his sister. That's pretty self-explanatory, Granger."

She raised a brow at him. "I don't get friendship from you two. It's more like he has something over you and that's why you follow after him despite your nature of being the one that leads."

She expected him to retaliate, to snarl his usual hurl of insults, but they never came. His knuckles just popped out even more in a tight fist and his shoulders squared off. "You're not wrong," was what he said in a harsh tone. And like it was causing him the greatest discomfort ever, like he was pushing himself away from his safe line, he said, "Look, Granger, I know that you don't want any of this, but seeing as you're not getting out of it, I think that we should attempt to get along."

Both her eyebrows furrowed. "Get along?"

"Like it or not we have the Zabinis in common," he explained stiffly. "Your brother is a poor excuse of my friend, your parents friends of my family for years, and my parents are your...Godparents. Our presence is going to be forced on one another for years to come, I just don't want to spend it listening to Zabini repermind us when I can casually ignore you."

She rolled her eyes, but she saw the flicker of defense in his eyes; like he was putting up walls of steel to keep something completely to himself. She knew enough of Malfoy to know that he was never phased by Blaise's rants of civility, that he tuned anything that didn't suit him out, and that he'd ignore her regardless of her being in the same room with him; civility or no civility pact.

But she also knew that Blaise had something over him, a secret that somehow involved a truce between Malfoy and her existing. She picked that up when in the past couple of weeks Blaise insisted on talking about Malfoy or bringing him to some of their hangouts by the lake. It always started with Blaise trying to get the two to talk, something neutral like school or the weather, but of course with Hermione and Malfoy being who they were, those days always ended with Blaise growing angered and stalking off with Malfoy; ranting about wasting his time. Whatever it was that Malfoy wanted, Hermione figured that it was important to her brother too.

"Fine," she replied in a mumble, looking up and locking eyes with him. "We'll call a truce, Malfoy, but you can't say anything to Blaise." The blonde boy in front of her continued to frown, but his eyes had flashed with surprise at how easy she'd caved to his request. "Promise me."

To her surprise, he actually seemed to be thinking it over. His light brows furrowed in deep thought, his silver gaze frowned in disapproval in her direction for a few seconds before it turned to a complete mess, like he was fighting with an idea at the same time he was trying to come up with an answer. After a minute or two, his pale expression went back to nothing. "Fine."

She extended his hand towards him and he looked at it like she had just offered him the head of a troll. "This is where we shake on it," she told him. Leaning closer towards him again, her hand still stretched out, she whispered in a condescending tone, "Don't worry about the Muggle-born germs, I'm technically a Pureblood. You're safe."'

Hermione couldn't say she was surprised that he sneered at her in his usual infuriated manner, or that he had extended his hand and gripped hers tightly with offense glittering across his face, but what neither of them had expected was the tingling sensation their palms erupted into as their skin met.

It wasn't a sensation that Hermione could say she'd read about in some novels or seen in films, but it was _something_. It was strong, pulling, binding—like a barrier had been breached by the enemy. It was dangerous, but the question was if that was good or bad. It just tingled and made them both look deeply at each other; their bodies becoming rigid at the unfamiliar feeling.

They had tuned everything out, all those voices and passing people in the background as they held onto each others hands—until someone walked directly to their table. They dropped their hands automatically, looking away from each other, and the noise boomed back into their eardrums.

"If what you're wearing now is any indication on what you might choose for the party, then we have a serious problem." The fact that Blaise had appeared in front of her, holding a goblet of liquor that he was now legal to grab, Hermione realized that Malfoy had dragged her into the Three Broomsticks. "You mind as well pass as one of the caterers."

Hermione rolled her eyes at her brother as he grabbed a chair from another table and dropped it in the middle of the table Malfoy had selected for them earlier. "I can always show up in my school robes, Blaise."

"Piss off," he snapped at her with a frown. "In the centuries that the Zabini family has been around, we've been respected within the socialites because of our excellent parties and charity events. We have a duty to our ancestors to be the best looking people. Naturally we already are, mind you, but there _are _poor sods like the Goyle and Flint families that look like they were inbred with Trolls. I'm serious too, Hermione. I can show you a picture of Goyle's mother, and let me tell you, that woman looks like she was conceived by..."

Blaise was taken out from Hermione's focus as she glanced down at the hand that Malfoy had taken into his. The skin on it was pink and warm still, and she wondered what it all had meant. And why it somehow was important to her in that very moment.

* * *

**AN: And we're finally moving on! YAY! Three cheers for progress! HIP, HIP, HOORAY! **


	11. The Worst Is Yet To Come

**Lover of the Light**

**Chapter Ten: **The Worst Is Yet To Come**  
**

Some days he was angry, incredibly so, and some days he was sad. It was never quite a surprise anymore—he knew that either staggering emotion was going to fill his head and run with his blood the moment his eyes blinked to life after a night's sleep filled with terrorizing memories. It was repetitive, it had been so for ages that he didn't really know if any other emotions existed beside the two that defined him nowadays.

When he was angry everything blurred into red and dust. He saw blood on the walls, saw powder of broken down plaster invading the air and becoming like fog through the corridors as he attempted to head to class or sit still during a lecture. When he was angry, nothing could stop him; nothing was safe. His fingers were always tingling at the tips with an itch to punch something, to destroy something, or to grab his wand and blow the walls around him. His heart beat more tensely, a little faster than usual, and it caused him pain. When he was angry, his mind filled with rage and he swore he saw black and nothing more. The background disappeared, along with himself for however long that flash of fury lasted.

When he was sad everything was still blurred into red and dust, but it all moved too slowly. He walked through the corridors, bumping into fellow students without knowing since all that displayed in front of him were walls painted with blood and corpses littered on the floor. When he was sad, he lived that day with a knot stuck in his throat, bubbling guilt in the pit of his stomach that rivaled the hole in his heart. His eyes stung with tears that were weak, that were his truth, and that were never-ending. When he was sad, he felt like there was no escape, not in the present nor in his sleep. Memories followed him like ghosts.

He told himself every night, when the dormitory was dark and the heavy breathing of his roommates filled the space, that he was going to try to move on. He told himself every night, repeated and repeated like he was writing lines on parchment that it wouldn't hurt the next day, that he wasn't going to remember. But every morning when his ears perked up from movement going on outside his four-poster and the light of the sun flashed against his thin lids, it was still there. He remembered it all.

There were moments when he told himself that he needed help, that maybe he'd gone absolutely mad and everything that he was feeling, everything he continued to remember, were just the signs that he needed to be locked up. He'd find some resolution, a push to make his feet move and lead him towards one of the three that he cared for, but he never made it to them. Who was he to ruin everything they were trying to accomplish?

Hermione was one of his best friends, a girl he'd been harboring feelings for since Second Year—but that didn't matter now; it hadn't for a while. His memories and refusal to see the light at the end of the tunnel squashed what could've been between them, and on the days that he punched walls and roared like a monster, he was glad to have cut the string of possibilities with her. He'd already caused her pain, he didn't need to add more. He knew that she'd be there for him always, to listen and soothe, but life was never easy for the Golden Trio and the fates had given her nightmares of her own to handle.

Ginny was a different story. Whenever his feet would try to lead him towards her he'd stop the movement before he made it to the third step. His sister had been there already; she had cried and yelled and suffered just like him. But unlike him, Ginny was strong-willed and more determined than he's ever been. Ginny got tired of hurting, Ginny got tired of having nightmares, and Ginny got tired of wasting her life in mourning. His sister woke up one day in the summer—one where he spent all night sitting underneath a tree and staring at the lonesome grave that invaded the Burrow's backyard—and she decided to move on. He wasn't going to dampen her progress.

Forever the loyal one, Harry never left him alone. The nights he stayed awake, crying his grief out, he knew that Harry was wide awake too; listening and suffering with him. He did it at the Burrow, night after night, and he continued to do it now in their dormitory. They never said anything, but he knew that words didn't matter in their friendship; they both knew of their love for one another. The problem was that no one had suffered more loss and more pain than Harry Potter, the _Boy-Who-Lived_. No one knew more death than his best friend, no one had more nightmares than him, and no one else deserves the freedom of guilt more than him. And he knew that Harry blamed himself for his torment—but the real enemy had been the consequences of war.

And that was just it, Fred had been just a repercussion of battle. And that was the hardest thing to grasp: his brother's death was a tiny pebble in the destruction that the war had been.

"Oh! For fuck sakes!" With the sound of a door swinging open, the back of it hitting the wall where its hinges were connected, Ron was startled out of his gloom. In a flash of dark robes, emerald and silver tie, Pansy Parkinson entered the secluded classroom with a chaotic feel to her. "Why the hell are you here?! Are you just bloody _everywhere_, Weasley?!"

The Gryffindor remained silent as the witch's yells echoed around the classroom. In a different circumstance, maybe one where he wasn't caught in a stormy shade of grief, he'd have various insults to bark back at the Slytherin, but things were so odd now. Besides, he understood her comment. He just had a different version: _she _was everywhere.

He didn't know how that was, but he was always in the same room as she. He hadn't noticed at the beginning of term, but apparently she was in every single one of his classes, and for some reason they were paired as permanent partners in a few of them. Then there was the ordeal with her blasted owl still taking her mail to him, causing them to see each other every morning during breakfast. As if that wasn't enough, there was something about her blue eyes that threw him off balance. He didn't know how to define it, but it was intense. It was like she was waiting for him; like she was waiting to get something from him that she'd already claimed as hers.

And it was those blue eyes of Pansy Parkinson that made him remain silent. Though this time they weren't digging into his with a demanding of something, they were narrowed into angry slits and glazed over by tears. Her usual pale face was blotchy and puffy with red, traces of tear tracks down her cheeks.

The tears automatically set off signals in his brain to get out of the classroom. With an awkward cough, he looked away from her and proceeded to make his way towards the exit. But it was the steps that he was taking that sent the already-angry girl into another spiraling tantrum.

"Do you think you have it worse than everyone else?!" She was still shouting, sounding shrill and high-pitched in the way he's heard girls do when they get infuriated and try to control their crying. "Do you think that because you were on the run with Potter that you suffer more?!" She took loud stomping steps towards him, gripping his arm and spinning him around so he could face her. "Well, newsflash, Weasley—you _don't _have it worse! Do the bloody school a favor and stop destroying classrooms or crying in them! Other people need them too!"

Bad idea. She should've known that her yelling was a terrible choice, especially since she somehow knew that he was easily set off nowadays. He tore his arm away from her hold, sadness in his being turning into fast paced anger, and he looked her dead on. "And _you _do?" His voice was equally as venomous as his stare. "The daughter and accomplice of murderers has it worse?"

She'd been crying when she had marched through the door, but the redheaded boy couldn't really have expected Pansy Parkinson to take a hit like a fragile, little girl. The witch matched his fury, expanding it on her pale complexion and even daring to take another step towards him. "You're not the only victim, Weasley," she hissed. "You're not the only one in this fucking place that lives with grief and misery every day. The only difference between you and the rest of us is that we don't dwell too much on that pain and become pathetic beings."

"You don't get to include yourself with the victims of war," he hissed back just the same. His own blue eyes were navy, narrowing and staring at her with accusing emotions. "You don't know _anything _about pain, Parkinson. And I suggest you piss off before I turn you into the cow we know you are!"

Infuriated flashes took over her expression, changing as she clenched her jaw and tighten her hands into fists. The blotchiness on her cheeks from crying previously mixed in with her current fury, and it took a long minute before she settled all her emotions and decided to speak. "You really can't be that narrowed minded, can you? I surely thought you would've learned a few things from the war—or from righteous and all-forgiving Granger." She paused to take a breath and then released it as an airy chuckle. "Open your eyes, Weasley. Not only to notice that the world is moving on without you, but that you're losing them too. You don't want to find yourself alone one day. It's not the loveliest of sensations."

For the first time Ron felt something else that wasn't in the ranges of sadness and anger—he felt confused. He dropped his dark stare and knitted his brows together. Not only had her comment come out soft, resigned, and like advice, but it'd also been raw and personal. And for the first time, he looked at her; _really _looked at her.

Her features weren't as strong when they weren't filled with disgust, they were actually simple. The redness on her cheeks faded, going back to her natural white coloring, but her skin looked so smooth over those high cheekbones. Her eyelashes were thick and they rimmed her cloudless, blue eyes. Her nose could still be argued to resemble that of a pug's, but it wasn't as ridiculous as he'd made it out to be all these years. Her mouth was perfect for her face, yet her bottom lip was bigger than the top.

She was actually some sort of—

"Oi. What's this?" Before Ron could come to a conclusion of something he rather never get into, the classroom gained more students.

"Ron?" Pushing her way past the set of Slytherin students, Hermione appeared in front of her fellow Gryffindor. She glanced at the girl behind him briefly before setting her worried gaze on him. "You okay?"

The redheaded boy nodded, but he wasn't given a chance to respond when one of the Slytherins decided it was his turn to input. "Well, now that we know that the Weasel—I mean Weasley—is doing dandy, can he proceeded to get out? We do have a study session and he's wasting my valuable—_Ow_!" Turning around to face the one that dared to smack him beside the head like he was a dog, Blaise was outraged. "What was that for?!"

"Be nice," Hermione snapped at him, smacking him again and making one of his house-mates laugh behind him.

"That's right, Zabini; be nice." Coming out from the shadows, where he left the Slytherin Prince and Goyle, Theodore Nott placed himself right beside the brunette girl. He threw a charming smile at her before casually putting an arm around her shoulders, as if they'd been friends for ages. "I say Weasley should stay and study with us." Everyone turned to look at the dark-haired boy, an eyebrow raised. "Come on. It's about time we all started getting along, isn't it?"

Giving Nott a suspicious stare, adding to the irate one Zabini was giving him and even the surprisingly threatening one Malfoy was mixing in too, Ron wasn't allowed the chance to indirectly tell the Slytherin to shove off when a new intruder entered the room.

Looking momentarily sidetracked by the other students, Zacharias Smith managed to find the one he was looking for. "Weasley," he spoke, ignoring the eye-roll and scrunched nose Zabini gave him that showed his distaste for the Hufflepuff, "we've been waiting for you. Everything's set up and now we're waiting to pick teams."

"Oh, tell me you're not playing Quidditch in this weather!" Ever the concerned one, Hermione made herself noticed, all eyes on her now as her parental scowl took over her beautiful face. "It's pouring outside, Ronald! How many broken bones have I had to mend for you and Harry because of it? Theo is right, you should join us for our study session. Bring Harry, too."

"As much as I'd like to spend my last day in Hogwarts studying before the holidays, Harry and I did promise the blokes we'd have a game with them," Ron explained as he noticed that Smith was now glaring at Nott's mocking smile. "You have fun with your...friends."

Seeing as the brunette looked deflated that her offer to mingle was rejected, Nott decided to amp his points with her by saying, "how about you join us after your game, Weasley? We'll be here for a while; Hermione's going to try and teach Goyle all of his subjects starting from First Year."

As the Weasel and the Hufflepuff glanced over at Goyle blushing pink from his sudden embarrassment and shyness, Malfoy and Blaise connected their eyes for a moment. It was untrusting from the blonde's part and annoyed by Zabini's, but as their gazes drifted from one another to collide at the side of Nott's face, it was a mutual form of dislike. Neither of them missed the fact that Nott was crawling his way disturbingly towards Hermione, except only one of them knew _why _that was.

"Should you really be inviting people, Nott? You weren't even invited," Blaise said coldly. "In fact, why don't you run along with Weasley and what's-his-face and be their bludger? I'm sure they'd enjoy hitting you with a bat. I know I would."

Instead of reacting badly, which Hermione expected, Nott just grinned at her half-brother and said nothing more. Sighing to herself, she first threw Blaise a warning stare before turning back to her fellow Gryffindor. "We'll be here if you change your mind, Ron—you too, Zacharias. You're all welcomed."

The Hufflepuff frowned in return and replied nothing as Ron just gave his best friend a strange wave and the two proceeded to dodge their way around the Slytherins and out the room.

Clearing her throat, not allowing herself to think that having her friends mix with Blaise was going to be rather difficult, Hermione whipped out her wand from her pocket and flicked it towards the desks. One by one, all in an orderly and clean fashion, the tables began to form a circle. "Are you joining us, Parkinson?" She placed her schoolbag on the nearest table, eying the girl that stayed in the background. "I'd really like not to be the only girl."

Raising a brow, the Slytherin girl eyed the brunette carefully. Eventually, she nodded. "I suppose I can use the help with Transfiguration."

Blaise couldn't help the proud and satisfied smile stretching on his face at the effort that Hermione was giving to integrate herself into his life. And grudgingly, he supposed at a point he was going to have to stop his nasty retorts and accept her life and its people too.

As Zabini and Goyle headed towards a table of their own in the circle, the two Slytherins lingering behind noticed that there was one open seat on the right of the Gryffindor. Simultaneously, the two moved forward—except, always the cheat, Malfoy managed to elbow Nott sharply in the ribs as he slid his schoolbag off his shoulder.

Once again, though none noticed as they faced away from him, Nott grinned instead of reacting harshly. He watched the fallen Slytherin Prince take the seat next to Hermione, both tensing like their auras collided and shocked one another.

"Interesting," Nott whispered to himself, grin transforming into a devious smirk.

**X**

She didn't know if things were actually becoming easier for her or she was just becoming a phenomenal liar.

Time had swept by rather quickly, and before she knew it the holidays had rolled around. Usually when she thought of the holidays she'd get a fluttering sensation all over her body, a warmness that was definitely consisting of cheer and love when she thought that she'd soon be able to spend time with her parents and do their usual holiday traditions together. She was the only child and never really had any friends, her being a little too odd for the other children, so she'd grown an impeccable relationship with her parents and being at Hogwarts every year had always made her nostalgic. She missed them terribly, especially with all the madness that surrounded her life in those previous years, but she always had the holidays to claim with them. It was their time and it had never been taken for granted.

Things were different now, however. This year there weren't going to be any Granger traditions because she wasn't a Granger at all. No, this year Hermione was a Zabini. So when it was time to have her trunk packed for the holidays, knowing that she was going to be missing the faces of Jennifer and Richard Granger, Hermione had surprisingly not sulked for long. She had cried of course, she _wanted _to be with her muggle parents, but she'd also been somewhat compelled by Blaise's excitement to have a holiday with a complete family.

The boy had talked for a good hour the night before departure of the things he wanted to do—things that surprisingly consisted of many muggle traditions, which she thinks he suggested in tribute to her history in the muggle world—and Hermione hadn't missed the simple and uncovered happiness in his emerald eyes. It was ironic that she started off incredibly reluctant, secluding herself from him, but she couldn't help but to realize that she truly cared for Blaise. Though he was a few months older than her, she thought of him as a little brother. And as annoying as those are said to be, Hermione was glad that she'd gotten to that point with him. It started making everything else feel possible.

"...but we can change it if you'd like. What do you think, Hermione?"

Fluttering her eyelids for a moment, light, setting and expressions suddenly appearing in her peripheral vision, Hermione noticed that those several faces were looking at her. She was sitting in a circular table, a cup of steaming tea in front of her. She didn't know exactly when lunch had ended, or what she'd eaten truthfully, but she was now in the west end of the garden of the Zabini mansion.

She cleared her throat, elbowing Blaise passively as he chuckled at her disorientation, and then she looked full-on at the honey-colored eyes staring at her softly. "I'm sorry, you were saying?"

Beautiful and radiant, even in the chilly and grayish gloom of that November day, Allegra Zabini smiled calmly as her stepson chuckled once again and the brunette sitting next to him scowled at him. "I was saying that I'm planning a trip to Milan soon, sweetheart," the woman went ahead to repeat the story the girl had missed. "There's a clothing store there that I've invested in with one of Milan's top designers, and they have just sent notice of the arrival of their newest collections. If you'd like, we can go there to choose the dress-robes you forgot to purchase for the party. There are gorgeous cashmere and silk designs and a variety of cuts, all in your liking, I'm sure."

"Doubt it," Blaise teased before he casually took a sip of his tea.

Resisting the urge to elbow him again, this time rougher than before, Hermione sat taller on her seat and acted like the proper, educated girl the Grangers had raised. "To be perfectly honest, Mrs. Zabini, I don't know much of designers and clothing."

"No problem, _cara_. Narcissa will be accompanying me on this trip as well, and she's always had a true taste for fashion. I'm sure she'd love to help to find you the perfect dress. Won't you, Cissy?"

All eyes shifted from Allegra, including Hermione's as she turned to the opposite side of the garden-table. There was the family of blondes that were said to be thick as thieves with the Zabinis; all three of them dressed in dark colors and perfectly poised as they enjoyed their tea. Mister Malfoy sat closest to the Zabini patriarch, files in between them as they took the opportunity to talk business; Mrs. Malfoy sat on her husband's right, looking elegant as she kept her hands folded perfectly over the table; and next to his mother, on the left side of the only brunette, silent and only speaking when spoken to, was Draco.

"Of course," Mrs. Malfoy replied steadily. And throwing Hermione off slightly, the blonde woman moved her blue eyes in a fluid motion towards her; appearing light and friendly. "If you'd allow, Hermione, I'd be delighted to assist. It'd be nice to pick out clothing for someone else than Draco for a change."

Malfoy narrowed his eyes at his mother. "...It was just once," he grumbled as Blaise snorted in amusement.

If she squinted, Hermione could see Mrs. Malfoy grin teasingly at her son, and for some reason that made an odd thought pop into her head. She'd seen the Malfoys before, endured their presence in hostile times, but she'd never really thought of them as a family. She had viewed them as ignorant, cruel purebloods, but when that was stripped away they were something else. Mrs. Malfoy was a mother, _Draco's mother_, and she loved him. She had to, didn't she? She had risked so much during the war just to get to him, just to see him once more. It was bizarre to see the woman in a different light, to even _think _that there was something more than the distant and refined woman she posed for the world to see.

And if there was more to the Malfoys, then there had to be more to the Zabinis. Reluctantly, she knew that was more than true when she stopped fighting and let Blaise in. She had tied him to being a bigoted pureblood, and he had been, but he'd changed. So, if Deon and Allegra Zabini had decided to step back into her life, to find their daughter and spend time with her despite the fact that she already had a different life away from them, then...they couldn't be just that, could they? They had to be more than the resentment she felt. They were two people with a past she knew nothing of, that had explanations she needed to understand the story—the story where they were her biological parents.

She wasn't going to start referring to them as 'Mum and Dad', they were far from that, but Hermione had allowed them a little closer. If she could accept Blaise, if she could love him as a brother, then she could use that process to understand Deon and Allegra.

"Sure," Hermione breathed after a moment of finding resolution. "I'd like that, thank you." Silence rang in the table, Blaise even stopped his mockery towards Malfoy to look at her with surprised eyes. Hermione had to resist the urge to roll hers at them. She wasn't that stubborn. "What are the formalities for this party?" She asked, making conversation. "I still haven't been told what it's for."

Allegra Zabini looked over the moon. "It'll be a Christmas party," the woman explained happily. "The Malfoys usually host one, but this year we're taking over. It'll be formal attire, of course, but it'll be mellow. We don't want to bore with uptight, ball traditions."

"Sounds fun," responded Hermione in a not-too-sure tone.

"Does it?" Though she'd been looking at the dark-haired woman in the table, Mister Zabini had taken the chance to talk to his daughter. The man pushed the files of important papers away from him, his kind, tanned face pulling on a gentle smile. "I was thinking we could spend part of the holidays in the Isle of Hydra, and then maybe the rest of Greece. Lucius and I've to tend to a few meetings there for the resort we're building, but it won't be for long. I'm sure you, Blaise and Draco would enjoy it after being in Hogwarts these past months."

Assuming that the two families would look at least slightly interested to spend the holidays away from London's terrible weather, no one looked intrigued by the idea. Mrs. Zabini glared at her husband, looking defiant in a way, and Blaise looked astounded at his father's comment.

"Deon," Allegra called her husband tensely, "you know perfectly well that the party must proceed as planned. We've discussed this many times before."

"And we both discussed that Hermione's first holiday with us shouldn't be spent in old traditions."

"The old traditions is why we're having that party," stressed the woman. Hermione raised a brow as the couple appeared to be arguing. She threw a quick glance at her brother for any sense of what this was about, but the boy was now frowning at his step-mother. "I'm following your requests."

"We both conceded to those traditions, _amore_. Yet, we both agreed that canceling them would be a better option."

"And we both know what the consequences will be if we do so. I'm not allowing that; I'm not running anymore." At the final comment Mrs. Zabini had to say to her husband, her honey-colored eyes and his emerald digging into each others, passing a secret language between them, a silence fell upon the tensed atmosphere.

She didn't know much about the foundation of Deon and Allegra's marriage, but from what Hermione had observed since the moment the Zabini mansion became her home was that the two were constantly in love. The man was always rather affectionate with his wife, breaking her speculation that pureblood marriages were cold and uncaring. The woman was always attentive to her husband, she was his strength in some way, and her love for her husband glittered in her eyes every moment they were together. Hermione knew that not every relationship was perfect, the Grangers' was as perfect as she could assume a marriage could get, yet her muggle parents had rows here and there. But to witness Mister and Mrs. Zabini arguing was a bit unnerving; especially because of what they _weren't _saying.

Always being the voice of reason, Hermione wasn't allowed to smooth her way into the couple's hostility when Jovi—the main house-elf at front of the Zabini mansion; an elf that reminded Hermione of Kreacher due to the devoted dedication and obsession for its masters—started approaching hurriedly with people trailing after him.

"Master Zabini," Jovi bowed after he practically ran to the garden table, "yous got visitors. Jovi tells them they weren't allowed to interrupt Masters and guests tea-time, but theys insisted, Master."

"Surely they could've waited—Regina." A bearded frown took over Mister Zabini's face, his green eyes hardening as the intruders of his mansion appeared before them.

Turning in her seat, Hermione saw who those people upsetting Deon were. It was two people to be exact, and one of them was a woman. She was tall and full, looking rougher by nature than the average woman. She had sandy-colored hair that was pulled and tied back into an elegant bun. Her face was pale, alike the visible skin that was showing from her grey robes, and she had a hard expression that could cause intimidation. Her eyes were almost translucent, and Hermione couldn't tell if they were extremely light blue or grey, and they were ragged. The entire woman's persona vibrated with firmness, with power and cold poise.

The only thing around the woman that eased Hermione was the person standing next to her—Theodore Nott.

"Good afternoon," the woman greeted in a voice that dripped animosity.

"Regina," Mrs. Zabini smiled, though it didn't reach her eyes that were cool, "how nice to see you."

The woman smiled dimly in return, however, it was already concluded by everyone else that that's as nice the interaction was going to get. "I hate to interrupt your day with the Malfoys, but I've got matters to discuss with you and Deon. And they're very important." The woman blinked and suddenly her narrowed gaze was on Hermione.

Hermione stared back, but from the corner of her eye she could see Mister Zabini frown at the intruding woman. "Hermione," he called the girl, "I'm sure you're acquainted with Theodore Nott." The girl nodded. "That's his mother, Regina Nott."

With her unmoving gaze still upon her, Mrs. Nott said, "pleasure finally meeting you, darling. It's been a long time waiting." As soon as the young witch looked confused, the woman added, "but what better time than the present, right? It's not every day the dead rises from the ground—don't you agree, Aria?"

With eyes wide open now, Hermione turned to her biological parents. "The Notts know?!" She hissed at them. "You promised you wouldn't tell anyone!"

"It's complicated, _cara_," Allegra responded quickly as her husband and stepson looked ready to start whipping out wands at Hermione's displeasure. "But we haven't told anyone about your true identity."

"Not yet at least," Mrs. Nott cut in.

Mister Zabini rose from his chair, severity taking over his tanned features. "That's enough, Regina," he practically growled. "We're not handling this right now. Leave my property and await for our owl."

"We're handling this now, actually," the woman contradicted, causing her son to roll his dark eyes behind her. "I'm not allowing the Zabinis to deceit my family any longer. We gave you our trust for eighteen years and you treated us as fools. I'm here to see that you honor the contract that's been resurrected."

_Bang_. "We're not having this conversation now, do I make myself clear?" Keeping his fist on the table, after having rattled the expensive teacups all around, Deon looked lethal.

Clearing his throat, feeling embarrassed and shunned at the same time, Theodore took a step towards the woman next to him. "Mother—"

"Silence, Theodore," his mother snapped, shutting him up with a scowl. "I'm doing what's right for our family. I'm collecting our debt." She aimed her infuriated stare at the Zabini patriarch. "She's alive, Deon, and I expect your family to honor our agreement."

Hermione rose from the table too. "What agreement?"

"This doesn't pertain to you, sweet—"

"It obviously does," the girl interjected Mrs. Zabini's attempt of distraction. Hermione was smart, she was _the Brightest Witch of the Age_, for heaven's sake! Yet, they thought they could pull one over her? It was clear as crystal Regina Nott wanted something from her; something she believed vigorously that was her family's.

Mrs. Nott laughed humorlessly. "You haven't even told her," she accused the leaders of the Zabini clan. "How much longer did you want to put this off for? You're running out of time. Stop trying to coddle the girl, she's isn't a child. She's going to know eventually and no measure of time's going to prepare her for it."

"Mother," Theo practically groaned, "_stop_."

Talented and provoked, Hermione used a nonverbal spell to make a resounding vibration take over the throng of people. Catching their attention, all eyes on her angered face, she dove in for an answer. "Will someone care to explain to me what the hell is going on?!"

Mrs. Nott was about to open her mouth, a cruel intention swimming in her orbs, but Allegra beat her to the punch. "Hermione," the way she said her name, the way she sounded scared and nervous, Hermione already knew that she wasn't going to like where the explanation was going to reveal. There was a pleading in her mother's eyes, the cause to the anxious rhythm her chest was now moving along to. "Before you were born, Deon and I had created several scenarios to protect you if harm was ever to fall upon us. Naming Lucius and Narcissa your Godparents was one of those methods, and the Grangers had been another. But that...We did it for you, Hermione; I swear it, sweetheart."

"What did you do?" Hermione asked in a desperate tone. "What does that woman want from me?"

"A marriage." Deon braved himself with a grave expression to face his long-lost daughter with. The self-loathing she'd seen in his gaze every time he told a story of the past appeared again. "She wants us to honor the betrothal contract between you and Theodore."

For a moment, for just the tiniest second, Hermione and Blaise locked eyes in her search for someone to call out a hoax. There was guilt in her half-brother's eyes, his head lowering to face his lap where his hands were clenched into fists. _He had known._ He had known all along about the arranged marriage between her and Nott—and that's why he hated him. Blaise despised Nott and his proximity towards her because he knew the truth was about to come out.

And at that conformation in her brother's eyes, Hermione dropped back onto her seat as her legs gave out. Her hands started shaking, like she'd suddenly been submerged into a tub of ice, and her chest started heaving aggressively. She was going into panic mode.

When she was sure she was about to faint, about to spiral into a black abyss as her ears began to ring and her vision started to blur, she felt warm hands grip onto her tittering ones. One, two, heave, heave, and she found silver eyes flashing like signals to stay coherent.

Once again, Draco Malfoy had saved her. This time without the use of his wand and his practiced healing magic. He had saved her from falling into a frantic, mind-numbing, air-stealing hole with his thumbs rubbing circles over her knuckles and his stormy-colored gaze looking desperately at her; like if he was about to lose her and he was trying to hold on as if his life depended on it.

* * *

**AN: Who saw this coming? Does it answer a few of your questions? Do you love me? Do you hate me? AH!**


	12. Solider On

**Lover of the Light**

**Chapter Eleven: **Solider On**  
**

He'd been in that room several times before. He had sat in the same seat, on a corner of a black couch pressed against the back of a white wall, many times. He'd even been in the room through its many phases of reconstruction. He'd seen it be an all-around sky-blue and littered with toys, he'd seen it transform to a prodigy of emerald and silver to represent Slytherin House, Quidditch and PlayWizard posters hung here and there, he'd seen it destroyed and partially burned down once, and he'd seen the current phase of renovation for a few months now.

It was currently all white, from walls, ceiling, and to the reflective marble flooring; even a few artifacts such as lamps, vases, and three pillows on the black couch. The only pop of color to the sitting room was the wall where the eccentric fireplace was built into. It was a deep emerald green, the wall, and it was decorated with a giant portrait while the wall beside it held a white bookcase.

The many times he'd find himself in the sitting room, Draco had always wanted to leave. He hadn't liked it when he was a child because the room was littered like a child's playroom, and he'd been jealous that he seemed to be the only boy that was expected to be neat and read, paint, or play an instrument for fun. As a younger adolescent, he hadn't enjoyed sitting in the same room with a boy who got quieter and stonier as the years went by. (Though, he did have to admit that there were the rare occasions at the ages of thirteen to fifteen when sneaking glasses of liquor with the companion was the only acceptable time.) The one time he saw the sitting room destroyed was the moment that he realized that the war had escalated too far, and that there really wasn't a side that was safe during the Dark Lord's terror. And the current times that he'd been in the sitting room, he had to deal with an awkwardness in trying to rebuild a comradeship with the companion that'd changed from the serious boy to an outspoken one.

Adding to those current times of wanting to flee was the present moment. He sat at the edge of the black couch and watched a figure stand before the fireplace, a pregnant silence ringing throughout the white room.

He decided to break that silence. "That's Silvana Rosso." He stood up from his seat, walking almost silently towards the fireplace and person there. "His mother."

She felt him before he had arrived beside her. She had felt him the moment he walked into the room over an hour ago, silently and supposedly undetected by her as she stared at the wall in front of her. She didn't know why that was, why she could sense his aura and smell the mint that radiated off his skin.

"I know," she responded quietly. She forced herself not to turn her head to the left of her and stare at him. She resisted that urge because she knew that the moment her eyes met his she was going to take him all in; studying him to find another answer that she was missing. She didn't know how it was that he, _Draco Malfoy_, had an effect over her and they'd never spoken civilly to one another. He didn't have anything pure about him, yet her body seemed to cling onto any particle of his from the get-go of a truce.

Lifting her chin a little higher, finding resolve not to turn, she instead studied the portrait before her. It was a painting, but the colors and details of it were so real, so intense, that she could've sworn it was a muggle photograph. A woman was painted from the waist up, nothing behind her but white as she smiled. She had a black, lace bodice that fell off her shoulders; exposing her rich and creamy tanned skin. She had dark hair that fell down into curls, parted at the middle, and that framed her face perfectly. She had wide-set eyes, cutting and black like rare gems. The woman was beautiful, refined looking, and she looked so much like Blaise.

"Why didn't he tell me?" Hermione lost her concentration over the painting and turned to Malfoy. Though she could still feel his warm hands on her, sending calming vibrations into her skin like he'd wrapped her up in a nonverbal spell, she pushed that aside to stare at him sadly. "Why didn't Blaise tell me the truth?"

Malfoy stared back intently for a moment before he released it and looked back at the portrait. "I don't know," he said unfeeling. "But what's surprising is that your brother can keep a secret."

There it went again, an indirect mention of a secret that Blaise and Malfoy shared. She would've been annoyed by it, but she had other pressing matters. "He should've," her throat tightened. "He betrayed me."

"Or maybe there's more to it," Draco said in a low voice that, if he hadn't continued speaking, she wouldn't have known he said anything at all. "Zabini always seems to have a reason for everything he does. Even if the rest of us can't understand it at first."

Hermione glanced at the blonde boy with calculating eyes. "Do you believe that, Malfoy? Because I don't even know why he does the things that he does. He's shifty, my brother."

"The portrait of his mother is a still; it'll never move and it'll never talk to him like the portraits of ancestors we wizards have in our home." He blinked from the wall and looked back at the brunette steadily. "What motive could Zabini have to do something like that?"

"...I don't know," muttered the girl, obliged to answer with sincerity.

Malfoy gave her a nod. "I didn't either the first time I came back here," he began to explain, "but then it was clear. The painting doesn't move because Zabini doesn't want to interact with his mother through a frame. It's a punishment too, I suppose. He didn't spend much time with her, he harbored resentment towards her for marrying so frequently, and after her murder he had nothing but that guilt. The painting doesn't move because he wants to remember her smiling, not of what she became."

Hermione swallowed roughly, a knot of emotions for Blaise added onto those she felt for herself. "You figured that out?"

"We were drunk one night and he spilled his guts," Malfoy said, sounding slightly casual for a single second. "The point is, Granger, that he's a massive git, but he usually has a motive—and they're not always entirely bad. Don't blame him for this."

They locked eyes again, strong and beholding, and for the smallest fragment of time she swore she was seeing a different version of Malfoy. A part of her, maybe as tiny as that second when she thought that the Prince of Prats was gone, was about to ponder that possibility, but the doors to the sitting room opened and in walked the owner and an unwanted guest.

Hermione tensed immediately: anger, resentment and hopelessness crept up her back with a chilly effect while Nott smiled gently at her.

"That's not going to work." Elbowing the dark-haired boy next to him, Blaise made his fellow Slytherin stop smiling. "Give my sister credit, you wanker." Theo rolled his black eyes at Zabini, but said nothing for the moment. "Hermione—"

"No," she cut across her half-brother as soon as he directed his words to her. "I don't want to hear it."

Blaise sighed with exasperation. "I _know_," it was a groan of defeat, "but the git isn't leaving until you talk to him. I offered to send a good aim at his bollocks and then feed him to the dogs I have somewhere in the gardens, and who are possible dying of hunger, but Father and Allegra said no." He truly looked saddened about his request being denied.

"Cheers, mate," Theo grunted, another eye-roll.

"The sooner you get this conversation over, the sooner he'll leave and you can go to your bedroom and blow things up," her brother added in her direction. "Or him, if you prefer. Personally, I wouldn't want to ruin your bedroom; it's freshly decorated and you haven't enjoyed its wonders. No one would miss Nott."

Knowing from experience that protesting was futile, Hermione simply nodded once and said nothing more. She supposed the Zabinis were right: she needed to talk to Nott, even if she wanted nothing more than for him to get lost in the depths of the Arctic ocean.

Without meaning to, Blaise almost made his eyes look in regret at his sister, but he was fast to not show it when he masked his face into an expression full of disdain for the unwanted guest. "You've only an hour," he warned.

"Always a great host, Zabini," Nott retorted back.

Glancing away from the two always-feuding boys, Hermione noticed that Malfoy had already left his spot next to her and was heading towards the doors of Blaise's sitting room. He put a strong hold on his friend's shoulder, steering him along. And before the two could be out of the room, both Slytherins turned at the same time. Blaise gave Nott the finger, and Malfoy's uncaring stare seemed more forced than usual—walls of steel, of _defense_, were up as he gave the witch a final look before closing the doors behind them with a nonverbal.

Clearing her throat uneasily, because she was certain her mind was playing tricks on her, Hermione tried to shake off the thought that there could be more to Draco Malfoy than the tormenting boy she'd known since First Year.

"Hermione—"

"You lied to me." Nott had spoken immediately, and she was thankful for the distraction of her thoughts about the absentee blonde Slytherin. She crossed her arms over her chest, frowning at him as he approached.

Theo stopped a few feet from her, close enough to see clearly into her brown gaze, but far enough that he had a chance to duck behind the center table if she decided to aim a hex at him. "It seems that way, I know," he replied with a smooth voice, "but I had my reasons."

"Your talk about making amends was just rubbish," she accused. "You really didn't want to befriend me."

"It _seems _that way," he repeated, "but I wasn't lying to you—not fully at least." He dared to take a step closer, stretching a hand out. "Can we please sit and talk this through?"

Her answer was no. What she wanted was to hex him with the most painful spell she knew and then step over his body and hide in her bedroom until someone told her that the secret she'd been given two hours ago was nothing but a joke. But seeing as Nott wasn't going anywhere, Hermione scowled at him and rejected his hand as she practically stomped her way towards her brother's black couch.

Hiding a grin, Nott turned on his heels and followed pursuit. He was keen to sit with enough space between them. "First off, I want to make it clear that my befriending you wasn't entirely because of—"

"_Don't say it_,"

"—our betrothal." He heard her mutter something incoherent to his previous comment. "I genuinely wanted to make amends, Hermione. Not just with you, but with the world. The war changed me completely, like it's done to many others, and I found something that made me want to start fresh. All of that was before I knew about you," he explained. "And when I did, I had a month to think things through; about how I was going to proceed. Befriending you was, in a sense, killing two birds with one stone."

"You could've told me, Nott."

"Would that have changed anything?" He snorted with amusement. "Hermione, you're not even over the fact that you're truly a Zabini, you weren't ready to hear about this."

Hermione balled her hands into fists over her lap. She hated when people assumed what was best for her. It was like she was being underestimated, and Hermione Granger was never to be underestimated. "I still don't understand how this happened. How did you know who I was? _Why _are we betrothed, Nott? I don't want to marry you!"

"It's pureblood tradition," he began to explain again. "Families draw contracts to twine two powerful families together, to secure the purity of blood and a true heir, or because there's a mean of protection for one of the betrothed. Your family did it for the latter, while I'm sure mine was all for the power, money, and purity.

"Anyway, that contract was made before we were born. The moment your parents passed Aria Zabini as dead, the contract automatically cancelled itself and became a useless scrap of parchment. Being the horder that she is, my mother kept the contract in our archives and forgot about it for almost eighteen years. It wasn't until after the war, after she had to sort through my father's financial files due to his imprisonment, that she came across the contract again. Being the smartest witch, Hermione, you know that every contract in the Wizardying World is more than a signed sheet—it's sealed and honored by magic and essence. By the point the contract had been found again, your parents must've acknowledged to someone outside your family that you were alive, and that's why the contract resurrected itself."

Hermione pressed her fingertips of both hands on her temples, rubbing them to soothe the headache that'd been throbbing for a while now. She didn't have to ask how he came to find out her true identity, or better said, who Aria Zabini had been posing as all these years. His impatient, and clearly mad mother must've stormed straight to the Zabini Estate and demanded answers. And _if _the Zabinis had no intention in marrying her off to Theodore Nott Jr. to honor bigoted, pureblood traditions, they had to let it happen because of the bind the contract has. And somehow Hermione doubted that Mrs. Nott had any intention of forgiving the betrothal. Unless there was another way...

At the way her brown eyes lit up, her posture straightened out, Nott recognized that her mind was churning its wheels with ideas. "It can't be undone, Hermione." He smashed her hope before it inflated completely. "I researched it the day I was told. The contract is binding."

"There has to be a way!" She shouted, standing from her seat and frowning at him. "There's loopholes to every damn contract, Nott! There _has _to be a way out of this, I know it!"

He looked up at her with momentarily blank eyes. "There is a loophole," she sparked with hope again, he could see it, "and that's death," and he destroyed it all over again. "Unless you plan on dying sometime this week, Hermione, this arranged marriage is going to be proceeded until the end."

Without helping it, Hermione's eyes filled with instant tears. She tried her hardest for a few moments to control herself, to make the tears vanish, but they fell. A knot formed in her throat, and she felt her heart fall down to an unknown depth inside her chest.

Slightly uncomfortable, Nott made a decision to put that feeling aside so he could stand up and put his hands at her sides. He looked her full-on, his fingers circling around her arms as gently as he could. "I know you don't want this, Hermione," he murmured, "and you've every right to cry or to be enraged, but the reality is that this is going to happen."

"I don't want to marry you," she sniffled out through her tears. "They can't take my...They can't take my right to choose who I'll share my life with, Theo. They can't take my chance to fall in l-love with someone."

The uneasiness he'd felt turned into sympathy and sadness. She was right. "Believe me, I know," he released his hold on her. With a sigh he said, "I don't want this either, Hermione, but as long as we have to, I rather do it with a friend than with an enemy."

Tears still fell past her eyelashes to splash against her pink cheeks. And surprisingly, for him, she didn't say anything. She just cried with devastating resignation, putting her palms over her eyes and blocking him out of her vision like she hoped it'd be from her life.

If only things were that simple.

With a shake of his head, damning his mother, Theo closed the space between him and the brunette as he wrapped his arms around her and pressed her against his chest. She cried harder, trembled at the same time that she stiffened in rejection, and all he had to say was, "we can mourn our freedom together."

**X**

She thought she was going to spend the entire run of the holidays stuck in that large house of hers, enduring the ringing silence and looming memories of terrible mistakes that had cost her family so much. She thought she was going to roam those bare and destroyed halls, walking down levels and levels of nothing to find no one at the dining room when she was ready to eat. She thought she was going to spend the holidays secluded in her room, a heavy locking charm on her bedroom door to keep away the horrifying flashbacks that lived outside her own sanctuary when it was time for her to sleep. She thought she was going to spend the holidays alone, without a single word from another human being until the return to Hogwarts.

She'd been slightly mistaken.

It was to her surprise the previous night when her owl Lyla flew into her bedroom window with a letter rather than a new edition of _Witch Weekly _and the constant _Daily Prophet _newspaper. A small part of her had a twinge of hope, that strange feeling she always felt when mail arrives, that it was from someone she'd been longing to hear from, but instead it was from someone she least expected to write to her.

_If you have plans tomorrow, cancel them. I need you to arrive at my gates at 12 pm. Don't be late._

_B. Z._

It had been an invitation, and a rather vague one at that. But that's how she found herself around people, even for a day, when all she'd been expecting was for no social interaction in the weeks without school.

She was in the middle of a prestigious shop, standing in front of a large, glass table that was filled in every inch with glittering jewelry. She was fingering an Onyx and Pearl necklace, partially admiring the detailing, but she was mostly aware of the two other people viewing the jewelry with her.

The girl right next to her that was pretending to check the price on a horrid and tacky Coral necklace that no one should be caught wearing, was eyeing the person in front of them; looking more intrigued than she should have.

Pansy Parkinson knew she was about to witness something amusing when the girl next to her cleared her throat.

"Granger, can I ask you something?" Blinking away from the earrings she was too focused on, the brunette ahead of Pansy looked momentarily confused after Daphne called out for her.

Lowering the objects she reached for to pass the time when she was shamelessly left in an awkward situation with two Slytherin girls that she knew nothing about and that hated her very essence just a year ago, Hermione nodded her head slowly.

"What is it with you and Blaise?" Daphne Greengrass asked straightforwardly.

"What'd you mean?" Hermione redirected with a question of her own.

Daphne rolled her eyes. "I mean, what's really going on with you and him? Don't take this the wrong way, Granger, but I'm not buying the story the two of you are selling."

Pansy watched as the Gryffindor Princess looked thoroughly disgusted at what the blonde witch was suggesting. "Blaise and I are friends," she said sternly. "Actually, we're a little closer than that, but no way are we...Just no, Greengrass."

Daphne leaned a little closer to the table, as if she was getting close to the brunette across from her. "I just don't understand this sudden relationship between you two. How do two opposite people go from resenting each others' existence to taking leisurely trips to another country together?" She shook her head, still not convinced with the simple explanation the brunette stranger had given her. "I've never seen him care for anyone else."

"Leave it alone, Daphne," Pansy told the girl beside her as she carefully set the Onyx and Pearl necklace back onto its cushion. "Stop meddling."

"I'm not meddling," retorted the blonde instantly. "I'm just honestly curious. I mean, I dated the bloody git for a year before he decided to take me out to Paris one holiday rather than spending that day shacking up in his bedroom." Greengrass turned back to the brunette, narrowing her dark, curious gaze at her. "We were together for two years and I've never seen him that caring for anything else that wasn't his moisturizing routine, body, and hair. But then you befriend him, Granger, and he's suddenly capable of loving someone."

Moving down a few steps to her left around the table, Pansy picked up a thick, silver ring with a square-cut Fire Opal gem. "Why are you so interested in Zabini's capacity of love, Daphne? Jealous, are we?" She looked up for a brief moment at her fellow Slytherin, a smirk on her lips. "I thought you were dating that Ravenclaw now?"

"I'm not jealous, Parkinson." Greengrass frowned. "And, yes, I'm dating Michael. And just because I'm a bit curious to why Blaise is suddenly Mister Joyful, that doesn't undermine my relationship."

"Maybe you still—"

"I don't love Blaise!"

"—fancy him." Finishing her intended comment, Pansy's smirk grew wider.

At the intense glare that the blonde witch was throwing at the dark-haired one, Hermione cleared her throat to push away the awkward tension that she felt at the very moment. As if being in silence with the two girls before wasn't bad enough, she didn't want to be caught in the middle of their row. She knew Slytherins fought dirty. "You're dating Michael? _Michael Corner_?" That caught Greengrass' attention, pulling it away from Parkinson. "Last I heard he was dating Cho Chang not just a few months ago."

The girl lowered the tasteless Coral necklace she hadn't even noticed she'd been holding. "Chang has a way of scaring blokes away, Granger," she said nonchalantly. "I'm sure she's a lovely girl and whatnot, but Michael just couldn't put up with the constant competition with someone else. Especially if that person's been dead for four years."

The Gryffindor Princess cringed and Pansy was the only one to notice it. Fortunately, before the amusing situation could rapidly progress to a resentful one filled with past terrors, the girls gained company when three boys approached them.

Swaggering his way to them, like he owned the room, Blaise glided along the clean tiles of the famous, New York store with three black shopping bags that matched his attire. He had a large smirk that, if one were to tilt their head to the side, was masking a true smile as he stared at his sister and his housemates interacting. Following pursuit, with his hands at his sides, equally filled with a swag that was more natural and didn't make a fuss about itself, was Draco Malfoy. He was serious as ever, lips in a thin line, but his silver eyes were a little preoccupied showing that he was thinking about something quite fervently. And finally, behind the two friends, was Theodore Nott; and he was looking deeply upset as he stuffed his hands in his pockets.

"Look at this, Hermione." Not caring about those behind or around him, Blaise went directly to his sister as he spotted a certain piece of jewelry next to her. "It's beautiful, don't you think?"

Hermione looked at the opened velvet box that Blaise was now showing her. Inside the black cushion was a long, pearly chain that had white flowers hanging on both sides. And every flower had a center gem that gleamed blue, intensely and vibrant. She hadn't noticed it before, but it gave her a sense of familiarity, of comfort now that she did.

She cleared her throat and decided to speak. "It is," she replied, "but I don't think it suits you, Blaise. It's a hairpin."

The dark-skinned boy elbowed her. "You see the blue stones at the center," he proceeded, ignoring her jab, "well, that's a Zircon gemstone. It's the Zabini family stone." For a moment, it was like no one was around, like he'd no appearances to keep up, or secrets to hush—Blaise smiled at his sister with glittering affection in his emerald eyes. "It's said that the Zircon was mixed into the blood of the first ever generation of Zabinis. It's also said that the essence of the stone, which holds powerful roots of wisdom, luck of prosperity and honor, lingers in every Zabinis core. And when we touch it..." He fingered a little flower on the chain. "It feels like a part of us."

While the brunette looked up at Blaise, an odd—_a sweet_—smile passing among them, Daphne Greengrass rolled her eyes. She still didn't buy the story of Granger being just friends with Blaise. Granger didn't befriend people like Blaise. Hell, people like Blaise didn't befriend people like Blaise. Granted, she really didn't think the Gryffindor was dating him, but something was definitely up and she wanted to know what it was. Something revolutionary had to have happened for Blaise to look like he was in complete bliss. No one could be that happy after the war, she knew that; everyone did.

"Where's Goyle?" Speaking, Daphne squashed Zabini's little moment with the Gryffindor. "I thought out of all people he'd be the first one that you'd choose to come on this shopping spree rather than..."She trailed off, nodding her head over towards Nott and the way he was absentmindedly appraising a watch.

Zabini frowned at his ex-girlfriend. "He's in Azkaban," he snapped. "It's Visiting Day and he wanted to see his father. And you would think that Nott would go have family day in Azkaban, but the git decided that his time was spent better being with us. He must feel enough shame on a daily basis being a Nott that visiting Daddy in prison just doesn't help the ego."

_Clunk!_

Tossing the watch he'd been holding, Theo finally showed some angered emotion to all of Blaise's remarks when he tossed the item roughly against the table. He turned from the group of familiars and heatedly walked back in the direction where he came from with the other boys.

"There he is." Looking away from the retreating Slytherin, Daphne stared at Blaise with mocking, dark eyes. "That's the git I used to date. I was starting to think that Granger softened you up, but no. You're still the foul tosser you've always been."

"Piss off, Greengrass."

Somehow that erased the girl's amusement. "You piss off!"

Blaise, ever the charming and polite boy, turned on his heels and headed to another end of the shop, muttering about bitchy and bitter exes; which Daphne heard perfectly well. She stormed after him, ranting loudly about how she wasn't bitter, and if she hated him, it was because of the way he's always treated her.

Left behind, Pansy felt like she was intruding when Draco met her eyes with his sharp ones. They were narrowed, ordering, reminding her of that boy in the early years at Hogwarts that was always demanding things from people because he was the Slytherin Prince. She wanted to laugh at how different that boy was to the one now, but she refrained herself from doing so. Instead, she nodded her head; signaling that she understood what he wanted. Lowering another necklace she was looking at back onto its place, Pansy casually walked away and left Draco alone with Granger.

She may have looked like she hadn't noticed Parkinson leave, but Hermione was well aware of the fact that Malfoy lingered behind with her. She could feel him—if that even made sense at all. She could feel the tension, the echoes of secrets, of things left unspoken, _frustrating _things. She could even smell him. Honestly, that was starting to bother her. She didn't know why or how she became acutely aware of Malfoy and his presence, she just knew that she didn't like it.

"Purebloods have their own family gemstones?" Ending the awkward silence, killing that frustration she felt whenever he was around, that bounced off his body, Hermione picked up the velvet box that contained the hairpin with the Zircon stones. "Actually, that really doesn't surprise me. Purebloods try to be that distinctive, don't they?"

"Muggles have them too, don't they?"

She looked up at him. "Sort of," she responded carefully. "Muggles tend to have traditional birthstones. According to the month the person is born into, that's the gemstone that represents you." She looked away from him, looking back at the table. And as quickly as she spotted a specific stone in a jewelry item, she glanced back up at him. "It's a girl's ring, but this would be your birthstone. Alexandrite for those born in the month of June."

Malfoy looked down at the ring balancing in Hermione's open palm. Without really inspecting the purplish gemstone, he took the opportunity to hide his surprise that she knew his birth month. How she managed to know that bit of information, he'll never know, but it somehow gave him some relief. Relief that she was capable of so much more than he was.

Before he could say anything, before he could say something he'd been trying to say for a while, her voice dug into his eardrums; deeming his words unheard. "I think I may have made a mistake in inviting Nott today."

She didn't know why she said it, but she needed to. It had been two days since she found out about the contract the Zabini and the Nott families created to marry her and Theo off and she had yet to really speak of it. She wanted to, she _needed _to speak of it, but she was having trouble finding someone that'd listen. Blaise hated Theo, and all her half-brother was capable of doing for the past two days was trying to come up with ploys to murder Nott without anyone catching him. She'd been a coward and had decided not to tell Ron or Harry yet; she couldn't face them with such news. So, why not Malfoy? Even if he didn't care, he still could pretend to listen and that was alright with her.

Malfoy stayed silent; expressionless.

"Mister Zabini showed me the contract yesterday," she continued, not minding his silence, "and...there really isn't a fineprint that can get me out of it. Not unless I die, that is." She sighed, putting the Alexandrite ring back on the table. "I feel hopeless, especially since I haven't been able to research anything about that stupid contract. It's not like me to give up, but right now...It could be worse, right? He could be you."

"What?"

At the low and harsh reply from Malfoy, Hermione was quick to snap her chin up to look at him. "Well, he doesn't hate me, does he? He had the intention to befriend me, for what reasons, I'm not clear on anymore, but he didn't make a _truce _with me because he was going to be seeing a lot of me. That's what you did. You still dislike me, don't you? I may be related to Blaise, but we have years of bigoted hatred among us that's never going to—"

"Fuck off, Granger," Malfoy hissed. His pale face ignited with a deep-rooted fury; eyes glaring and lips in a snarl.

She frowned at his reaction, though slightly puzzled. "We're not friends, Malfoy; you're putting up with me. But we both know if things didn't happen the way they did you would've continued looking down at me and I would've continued defending myself from you."

"Go to hell, Granger." Things changed quickly in the second he said that, the second later that she looked thoroughly confused, the second after that he started walking away from her in a furious fashion, and in the next second when a resounding _BANG _echoed around the shop.

The windows of the shop shattered along with the loud, booming sound that shook the entire place. As the crystal of the windows fell, people started running, screaming, and wands were whipped out from their secure locations. Flashes of spells penetrated the walls of the shop from the outside, and from the small crowd that had been inside of the store, it was impossible to tell who was creating the attack.

Turning from his spot, Draco's wide eyes caught two things within a fragment of a millisecond: Zabini clutching a screaming Daphne, and Granger dodging several jets of lights.

"_Impedimenta_!" Shooting her own curse, Hermione crawled underneath a table of expensive scarves and silk gloves, diverging a hex that had been headed right for her. Her heart had already been beating fast with angry defense over her discussion with Malfoy, but now it was pumping with adrenaline from the surprise attack.

Crawling on the now littered floor of the posh New Yorker shop, Hermione had her ears perked and eyes alert at all the commotion that was happening. So as things exploded, as things flew, as people ran, and as she crawled her way on the floor to avoid the curses flying, she didn't count on anyone coming up from behind her. That was her terrible mistake, and it had been exploited.

Feeling nails seep into her scalp, Hermione was dragged backwards by her curls. She gripped her wand tightly in one hand before it slipped from her fingers, and her other hand was digging its own nails at the hand pulling her hair. She was hissing colorful curses that would never come out of her proper and polite mouth on a daily basis; all the while trying to free herself.

"Draco!" Shrieking at the top of her lungs, Pansy appeared once more as she tried dodging spells still blowing things around the store. She fell to the ground as the table of jewelry she'd been admiring earlier was flung up by a jet of light, her hands covering her head and her eyes squeezing tightly shut.

Close to the dark-haired girl, Draco sneered as he roughly grabbed Pansy by one of the arms shielding her and pulled her back up to her feet. "Get yourself out of the shop, Parkinson!" He ordered. "Send a Patronus to the Ministry!"

The giant chandelier that hung from the center of the ceiling, that no one had apparently noticed, crashed to the floor, sending shards of diamonds, glass, and metal flying everywhere; catching the two Slytherins and others in the area. Malfoy managed to conjure a Shielding Charm right before their faces were pierced by the broken chandelier.

"Hermione!" Turning for a second, charm still up, the blonde Slytherin saw Zabini shouting for the brunette that had managed to fight off her attacker for a single moment before a famous jet of green light missed her by a centimeter.

Heaving, her chest pumping with strangled air, Hermione rolled from her back onto her stomach; crawling for a few quick seconds before she bolt back onto her feet. She had lost her wand somewhere, it had slipped from her fingers when she managed to scrape by the Killing Curse. She had lost her weapon and now she had to count on her knowledge of nonverbals until she found it again.

One curse after another shot towards her direction, but Hermione had the experience of war to help her dodge most of them. She was agile, bending down when she needed to, launching herself to a corner so the spell heading for her would hit the wall in front of her, and she was strong enough to aim a few good punches and kicks when someone had gripped her shoulder and turned her around.

In the second that Granger started throwing punches at the hooded figure that was attempting to bring her down, Draco and Blaise started running to her. Pansy dove in to their direction too, but she was headed for Daphne; pulling her away from Zabini before she got caught in the midst of a curse for being shell-shocked.

Though he found Daphne a nuisance, he was thrilled for a swift second that Parkinson managed to free her from him and that both scurried off; trying to find an escape and hopefully get some help. And as his eyes were set on Hermione Granger—the war heroine—battling out with fists and kicks, he and Malfoy got caught in the pathway of a flying table.

He felt it before it even came hurling their way. The table hit him and Blaise from mid-back to the crown of their heads. It knocked them down instantly. The impact of the table and objects on it dug into their bodies; causing damage. He felt shards of glass rip through his clothes, piercing his back and through the first couple of layers of his skin. And as they fell to the ground, a clutter of demolished walls and other things inside of the shop fell on him and Zabini; burying them until they saw black.

"Blaise!" Hermione shouted for her brother, eyes appalled as he disappeared in the mess of things. She saw dust of the plaster create a fog around the section where the two Slytherins fell and she felt panic seep through her. "Malfoy!"

"_Confringo_!"

Hissing with pain, Hermione felt a ball of fire settle on her right shoulder before she maneuvered away from her attacker's way; thinking of a powerful nonverbal to end the fiery curse sizzling her skin.

_Aria._

She froze for a tiny moment—of course they were after her. How daft could she have been in thinking that all these attacks were just going to disappear; like they were just a coincidence and they were never going to come and haunt her again.

_Aria. _

Shaking the voice out of her head, Hermione didn't let the chill of her mind being invaded distract her from dodging another spell heading straight to her.

The problem was not in getting distracting, in cowering with fear that there was a maniac on the loose who knew her secret, who wanted her crumbled and possible dead—the problematic matter was that she had lost her wand. She was a powerful witch, capable of so much more than any witch or wizard twice her age and with more experience, but there was only so much her strength and capacity with nonverbals was going to take her.

"_Deprimo_!" Having not lost his wand when he was buried underneath so much rubbish, Draco managed to cast a powerful wind from his wand-tip to relieve himself and Zabini from the clutter on them. And as soon as he did so, Zabini lift his head from the floor, slapping his hands on the crumbled floor, and sprung onto his feet; determined to find the brunette.

And he would've—they both would have—if it hadn't been for several consecutive things that forbid them to. A giant piece of wall was hurled at their direction again, but Malfoy was the only one to dodge it. Blaise fell to the floor once more, this time his head colliding with it in a resounding crack that echoed through the commotion. As as Zabini fell unconscious, as Malfoy briefly debated who to assist, a herd of wizards with Auror badges invaded the shop; Shielding Charms flying all around.

But the most obscure occurrence of them all was when Draco relived something straight from his guilty nightmares—Granger's torturous scream of pain. Her brown eyes were wide when a jet of light wrapped around her. She was confused for the tiniest fragment of time, but Draco knew what the curse was before its affects started happening. Her mouth opened and a strangled, silent sob passed her lips before she fell onto her back. Spots of blood started appearing on her chest, soaking her clothing and pooling around her like she was submerged in a small portion of water.

Once again, Draco Malfoy found himself not doing anything as Hermione Granger suffered.

* * *

**AN: HAPPY THANKSGIVING, LOVES! 3**

**I am grateful for each and every one of you tonight. (And every day, really.) Without the encouragement you guys give me, I would've quit writing a long time ago. You're all very charming people, and I thank you for reading the things my imagination comes up with.  
**

**God bless. (:  
**


	13. The Oddity of Change

**Lover of the Light**

**Chapter Twelve: **The Oddity of Change**  
**

One.

One, two.

One.

One, two, three—_open_.

Her eyelids felt heavy, like she hadn't slept in ages, just the way she remembers feeling when Harry and her took turns sleeping short hours when they camped out in the Forest of Dean. It was far more difficult this time to open her eyes, to blink with the weight her eyelids seemed to be carrying, but she eventually did so. The walls weren't those of a magicked tent and she didn't see the shadow of someone sitting outside keeping guard. She felt relieved that she wasn't back in the times of war.

It was dark where she was except for the flicker of a candle burning out on top of the white-marble nightstand that barely highlighted anything. _The nightstand. _Once again she felt relieved that she recognized something in the darkness, and if that nightstand with metallic knobs and the five cylinder vases containing five purple flowers on its surface was anything to go by, Hermione knew she was in her bedroom in the Zabini mansion.

She swallowed a knot of emotion as her eyes looked at the candle and the nightstand. Strange as it was, strange as she felt, Hermione was comforted by the idea that she was inside Zabini walls. She didn't think that would ever happen.

Wanting more comfort, wanting to be wrapped around it to shake off this feeling, this drowning sensation that she couldn't really identify in her half-asleep state, the brunette pulled her heavy body into a sitting position. That action of stretching out her arms to remove the silk sheets tucking her in tightly to the mattress was enough to make her body feel like it was about to explode with pain, but as she put pressure on her chest, she almost fainted.

Groaning, tears welling up in her exhausted eyes, Hermione managed enough strength to only outstretch her right arm toward the nightstand. Careful not to stick her fingers in the candle flame, she struggled for a few seconds until her hand felt the warmth of her wand.

_Her wand. _

Why did she feel so happy to have her wand between her fragile fingers? Why did the blood in her veins start pumping with excitement, like her magic was grateful for the wand now in her hold? She knew about the homey feeling a wizard felt with their wand, but this? She'd never felt so safe holding it during times outside of war.

"_Lumos_." Her voice came out in a scratchy whisper, a mumble of a word her throat barely allowed access to be spoken. Her throat hurt, like she'd been screaming, and her mouth was dry, like she hadn't had a glass of water in ages.

Ignoring the thought that told her she'd been unconscious possibly for days, Hermione would have bolted upright into a sitting position by what the light of her wand exposed if just breathing didn't hurt her chest and her bones didn't hurt by just being awake. A few feet away from her bed, not too far and yet not too near, in an armchair that hadn't been in the luscious bedroom the Zabinis had provided for her before, an open book balancing awkwardly on the armrest, was Draco Malfoy. A sleeping Draco Malfoy.

Pointing her wand to a nearby lamp, Hermione's wand-tip extinguished the light it had been conjuring when an automatic source lit up the room. Lifting her head as much as she could, she fixed her brown eyes at the blonde a distance from her. He looked so _defenseless_. There was never a time when Hermione reckoned she saw Malfoy look such way. He was always trying to put up a front; hidden behind walls of sneers, taunts, fears, and most recently, seriousness. But there, in that armchair as he slept, he looked like nothing he'd been showing the world.

He was reflecting what was on the inside.

The hand that was somewhat sustaining the book was clutching the pages of it, wrinkling them, and even possibly tearing them. His eyelids, though closed, appeared to be tightening; twitching from whatever it was that he was dreaming. His pale lips were slightly open, but she could hear the barely audible muffles of something frustrating.

She had decided her next action before she could even process it. Should she be doing it? No, absolutely not. It was forbidden unless granted permission by the Ministry. It would take up the rest of her energy, given her apparent sore and weak state. Not to mention it was downright rude and invasive.

However, she was also a curious one. And she wanted to know what Draco Malfoy dreamt of.

Taking in a shaky breath, wand slightly trembling in her fingers, she whispered, "_Legilimens.__"_

_There was darkness, a lot of it. It was cold and haunting, echoing and shrill against the ancient walls with ancient portraits of previous ancestors. They spoke to him as they passed, narrowing their painted-eyes at him, but he ignored it all. Fear also plagued the darkness, and it followed him like a shadow every step he took. His chest was heaving quite rapidly, aggressively, and drops of sweat collected at the forehead; dampening the tousled white-blonde hair. He walked down that lonely hall like he was carrying a burden, a heavy and excruciating one that was sucking the life right out of him. _

_It was like he was walking to his doom. _

_He swallowed roughly, his silver eyes fighting to bring some sort of shield up, to hide his horror, anger and sadness, but he was too soon inside his destination and without a chance to guard his mind. His silver eyes scanned the ballroom, a ballroom once the pride of the ancestral and prestigious family, but that was before death and pure evil had come to it. There were two familiar women in the corner of the grand room, heads bowed as he entered. He didn't linger on their shadows for long when a malicious voice spoke and gleaming red eyes ordered for attention._

_'This is a great honor,' spoke the slithering, cruel voice to the blonde boy with his head bowed, too afraid to look up. 'You are being granted a wonderful gift, Draco Malfoy. A gift that permits for you to please the Dark Lord and redeem your family's name in the process.'_

_The boy closed his eyes tightly, his hair and the shadows of the dimly lit ballroom hid the physical appearance of his fear. But he knew, they all knew he was terrified. Just like they knew it was no gift, it was no honor fallen upon him—it was a _punishment_. It was his death ticket once he failed._

_'Present your arm to me, Draco.' _

_ One of the women in the corner raised her head, and blue eyes overflowed with tears as a wand was taken out to brand the boy with the Dark Mark. And there hadn't been anything that Narcissa Malfoy could've done in that moment to save her son._

Hermione was ripped away from that dream as soon as Malfoy's eyes reopened and they found the ones of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named...

_Almost a year had gone by and he looked like he'd gone through ten rough ones. Everything looked that way, everything _felt _the way. Every day was exhausting, every day was horrific, and every day was a terrible routine of fearing for one's life, yet anxiously hoping for that end._

_Things were different that evening, however. A gang of Snatchers had caught the great Golden Trio and dragged them to Malfoy Manor. He had been asked, he had been _pleaded _with to identify the three captives, but he hadn't been able to do as his relatives requested. He hadn't a proper idea why he hadn't, not in that moment at least, but the chain of events that his lie had caused were worse than if he would've spoken the truth._

_He knew that the moment the first Cruciatus Curse was cast and the shrill, gut-wrenching screams of Hermione Granger bounced off the walls of the drawing room in the manor. _

_Sympathy, guilt and hopelessness weren't in his repertoire of emotions—not like fear and deep depression had been lately—but he felt them strongly in the moment when his demented aunt cast and recast the torture curse on the brunette. He felt nauseating guilt fill his chest as he watched the girl squirm, beg, scream, and cry out at the horrendous and traumatizing pain she was being inflicted with. He felt sympathy, for her—_for the Mudblood_—and hopelessness as he fought down the inclination any decent human being would have in saving someone in such distress._

_But he was Draco Malfoy, and he was a coward._

'_That sword was meant to be in my vault at Gringotts, how did you get it?' Bellatrix was straddling her as she hissed desperately for answers. _

_The brunette cried, mumbling things that were eaten by her sobs._

'_What else did you and your friends take from my vault?!'_

'_I didn't take anything. Please,' the muggle-born cried. 'I didn't take anything!'_

_He believed her, he really did—Bellatrix, however, didn't. The crazed woman pulled out her blade and began to carve into the girl's left arm._

_Screams, louder screams, haunting screams echoed and echoed around the room, making him dizzy, making him desperate, making him cower further at the madness of it all. His feet wanted to move, his fingers wanted to reach for his wand, his mouth wanted to say a hex that would spare her, that would at least put everything on mute so he didn't have to relive those screams in nightmares, but he didn't move. He didn't move._

_He hated himself more that night._

Shedding tears as she witnessed her torture from another angle, Hermione flew and dissolved away from Malfoy's memory of that night and landed in another occurrence. This one hectic from the moment she fell into it...

'_Master Zabini!'_

Punch. Punch.

'_Master Zabini!'_

Punch. Punch.

'_Master Za—'_

'_Don't you ever fucking—' _punch, punch_, 'come back here again!'_

_He had lost his wand the moment he had walked into the destroyed and barren sitting room that belonged to Blaise Zabini. He hadn't known why he'd been there—more, why his father had insisted that he accompanied him to the Zabini Estate and continued to force him to interact with the Zabini heir when it was clear no friendship was ever going to sprout among the two Slytherins. _

_Zabini and he had been acquaintances for years, but they'd never interacted more than they needed to. They stayed out of each others ways and there never had been bad blood between them other than petty and normal rivalry among two arrogant boys. Yet, upon setting eyes on him the moment he stepped into his headquarters, the dark-skinned boy had launched himself and proceeded to assault him. Magic be damned with it._

Punch. Punch.

'_I'll kill you, you fucking coward!' _Punch_. 'You and your family are going to regret it!'_

_If he ever was thankful to hear his father's voice, it was right there and then. He hadn't been eating well for two years now; he'd gotten lanky and weak, he knew that. Physical strength was out of the question in ways to get out of the brawl with Zabini. If he was going to fight back in any way it was going to be with magic, not by fists. So when Lucius appeared with Mister Zabini by all the screaming the house-elf he knew as Button was doing, he was spared by being beaten into pulp by his housemate._

_Through his already swollen eyes, he knew it was his father that was attempting to pull him up to his feet, even as he coughed and blood splattered past his busted lips and from other slices around his face. He also caught sight that his father had a black eye, and neither of them had entered the Zabini mansion with any bruises._

_ 'You're going to regret what you did to her, I swear it!' Blaise roared as his own father attempted to calm him; gripping him by the chest and pinning his arms to his sides as he thrashed about to get free. _

It didn't take a genius to figure out what had driven her brother into an enraged state. And Hermione was certain that now, given the revelation of her being a Zabini, that Malfoy also knew why Blaise had attacked him that day...

_Everything about him was being contained. He sat in a chair in the middle of a grand jury room, all eyes on him as he kept his bound hands on his lap. A Ministry Official was talking to another person on the floor, a girl who looked battered and tired, but her brown eyes were always firm and collected._

_ 'Can you tell the Wizengamot what happened that night in Malfoy Manor, Miss Granger?'_

_ The girl sighed. 'I've already repeated the events of that night, Mister Hale,' she spoke politely but straightforwardly. 'And I've written a statement about it.'_

_ 'Miss Granger,' the member of the Magical Law Enforcement, that was trying vigorously in convicting the Malfoy family for the past four hearings, stared coldly at the witness on the stand. 'You say that Draco Malfoy did not give you, Mister Potter and Mister Weasley away that night, but he was much an accomplice to your torture. And it is known and stated by researchers that the effects of the Cruciatus Curse can alter—'_

_ 'I don't not blame Draco Malfoy for being tortured,' the brunette interrupted, looking thoroughly upset and pale now. 'I blame Bellatrix Lestrange, who pointed her wand at me and gave me scars that I will forever carry. She's to blame, not Malfoy. And seeing as she's dead, I'd think the court should stop bringing that up.'_

_Draco gazed intently at the girl trying to give an accurate testimony for him to be spared from Azkaban, and he couldn't help but to look at her with flickers of respect. Actually, he couldn't help himself from staring at her at all. _

That day, Hermione hadn't realized how much time Malfoy had spent with his eyes on her. Especially because she'd been purposely avoided him entirely...

_ '...if she could look at me now.' There was a loud chuckle. 'Look at me, Mother! I'm everything you hate!'_

_Sitting on the floor of a newly refurbished sitting room that belonged to Blaise Zabini, a place he'd sworn he'd never come back again unless it was to get even with the bloke and leave his face as bruised and purple like the latter had left his, Draco stirred a glass of Firewhiskey between his lazy fingers. He rose a blonde brow at his fellow Slytherin, staring at him through a hazy vision as he pointed a dark finger at the portrait of his deceased mother hanging on the wall straight across from them. _

_ 'She'd hate me if she saw me...If she knew my thoughts,' Blaise muttered with a snort. He lifted his own glass of liquor to his lips, sipping on the drink for a few moments before speaking again. 'That's why she doesn't move,' he mumbled, 'so she doesn't have to see me. Nor that I have to see her and what her Pureblood mania left her in the end.'_

_Silence rang among the boys for a few minutes while glasses were refilled and they both thought about things that had never been voiced before. _

_ 'Things are going to change, though,' Blaise continued through his alcohol-induced state. 'I'm going to get what I always wanted. I'm going to get my family, no matter the cost.' Tears appeared in his red-rimmed green eyes, but he did not shed them. He instead drank more of his Firewhiskey. 'Do you know what I mean, Malfoy?"_

_Lowering the glass from his mouth, Draco kept his brow raised as Zabini glanced at him with an assertive expression. 'No_.'

_ Blaise snorted. 'You're free from all charges, Malfoy.' He leaned his back completely on a black armchair, sprawling himself on it in a tactless way that went against all the manners taught to him. 'There has to be something you want to fix now that the war is over.'_

_Maybe it was the two bottles of Firewhiskey that he downed with Zabini, or maybe it was the fact that the norm of protective and defensive walls were gone once Zabini started yapping about things that didn't make since but apparently pained him, that made Draco open his mouth. It was a simple thing he said, two words, but it had him feeling shocked that he even said it at all and it had Zabini bolting upright and looking completely sober._

_ 'Hermione Granger?' Blaise repeated, low and angry as he eyed the blonde on the floor carefully. 'What about her, Malfoy?'_

_ 'I need something from her,' said Draco in a flat voice. 'It'll help me fix my nightmares.'_

_ Blaise's brows scrunched together. 'What does Hermione have that you—'_

The look of deep questioning that her brother had on his face was ripped away from her vision and replaced by blurs, twirls, swirls, and flashes of a light that hadn't been in the sitting room.

"Had enough?"

Inhaling and exhaling quickly, completely drained from the voyage she had, Hermione's brown eyes were agape when she met the awake ones that belonged to Draco Malfoy.

"I...umm..." She cleared her throat, coughing slightly as she tried settling herself in a less defenseless position on her bed. "Sorry."

Malfoy's silvery, hardened gazed watched her as she gritted her teeth and fisted her palms as pain shot through her as she still attempted to sit up. It was clear she did not want to be lying on a bed, sore and fragile, while a boy she considered her nemesis for such a long time looked down at her. She was proud that way, always aiming for excellence and respect—he found that amusing, yet admirable.

Hermione was embarrassed that she hadn't pulled out from Malfoy's dreams before he woke and got caught—which, she knew, was more likely to happen since the sensation of one's mind being probed wasn't easily ignored. There was just something enthralling about his dreams; something _honest _and clear about his memories. And honestly, how can she have not lost track of time if everything she'd known from Malfoy was what he wanted to portray. It wasn't like he was open, it wasn't like he said what he really thought, and it wasn't like she ever got to witness his true emotions through that blank mask he always sported.

"What do you want from me?" She asked before she could stop herself. She wanted to know, and she was high off Malfoy's vulnerable state that she couldn't let the opportunity pass. Besides, it'd been obvious to her for a while now that he, with the help of Blaise, were aiming to get something from her.

His infamous blank expression was pulled out. "I don't want anything from you, Granger."

"Don't," she hissed, her palms pressing down on the mattress as she'd managed only to pull her upper-back a few centimeters off of it. "Don't lie to me, Malfoy. I'm not stupid, you know. I've seen you and Blaise hiding about, whispering things about me. If you have something to say, be courageous enough to do so."

Her pained murmur and reddened cheeks gave him enough comfort that he chose not to respond with an insult. But because he felt that way, Draco couldn't help but to pay attention to the cold, trickling sensation of guilt crawl up his spine; reaching up past the base of his neck and clutch the back of his head.

He sat taller in his seat, gaining some sense of superiority at least. He didn't know where he was going to pull out bravery, especially if every part of him was a coward, and say what he needed to say. He didn't want to go around in circles and make a fool of himself, his pride would not allowed that; no matter who it was before him. So with a frown, with a deep inhale, and without another thought he said, "I need your forgiveness."

Hermione fell back down those centimeters of progress.

He took full advantage of her shocked silence to speak. This was going to be much easier without her interrupting. "I'm no good with apologies, Granger, since I've never had to give any, but I'd never...needed to give one as much as I need to give you one." This was absurd. "I treated you like filth since we were kids, ridiculed and belittled you, and I let things happen to you when...when I should've done something to stop them. All that hatred that I felt for you was actually mad ignorance, and...I'm sorry. I've felt sorry for a long time."

"I—"

"Things from the past don't change, and I understand that. I'm not trying to change _that_, I'm trying to change the now. I've never had the need to, but I suppose accepting mistakes and seeking forgiveness is a place to start," he continued, not stopping even when she attempted to say something. "My views on things have slowly started to change, and before your status changed to a pureblood, you showed me that all blood bleeds red."

His eyes traveled to her bare arm, the left one. For a single second, her eyes flickered to it too. The scars of MUDBLOOD that Bellatrix Lestrange had left her were still prominent, just less red and grotesque as the months went by. It still tainted her skin, it still was a reminder of that torturous night, but she refused to try and alter them. They were her battle scars. She had been proud of them then, back when she thought she was a muggle-born, and now, now as an alleged pureblood she was even more honored to wear them.

"I don't blame you for that night," she spoke quietly as she turned to look at the blonde. "You had no way of stopping it. War was about survival, and everyone had to do what they had to in order to survive."

He frowned at her. "Don't spare me, Granger. Don't use psychology on me by insinuating I did nothing only to ensure my own survival. Weasley and Potter escaped the cellar to help you, any decent person would've done so and I—"

"They love me," she interrupted him. "They put their lives on the line to help because they _love _me. Same as I will always do for them. And I'm not trying to spare you, Malfoy, I'm being honest. That's how I feel so don't victimize yourself."

That shut Malfoy up.

Hermione sighed. "I forgive you."

Their eyes met, silver and brown, and it was something unexplainable that made her feel dizzy. The clear surprise, the clear hope in his stare was overwhelming—it was like he felt, like he was human. The acceptance in her eyes, the gleam of honesty and forgiveness in them made him feel like a portion of the weight he'd been carrying for ages now was lifted. It gave him more air to breathe.

"Is that what Blaise was helping you with?" Hermione ended the silence. Once again, her palms were face down on the mattress and she was attempting to pull herself into a sitting position.

He didn't know where to go from now. He'd been waiting months to seek for Granger's forgiveness and now that he had it what was he supposed to do with it? What did he want to do with it? What was he allowed to do with it?

"He swore he had a way of making that happen, of bringing you around long enough until I could find a way to apologize." He stood from the armchair without a processed thought, walking to her. "Of course, I didn't know you and the git were siblings then so I didn't believe him."

Nothing came from Hermione's lips for a moment when one of Malfoy's hands was carefully, gently, placed on her shoulder and the other went to wrap around her wrist. And like she weighed nothing, like her bones hadn't been pushing her down like they were made of an excruciating steel, he helped her up so she could sit. His hand on her shoulder dropped, but the one around her wrist slowly unwrapped and traced down her own hand and knuckles, leaving tingles, until his fingers pulled up the silk sheets to cover her.

She had gooseflesh now. Swallowing down this sudden nervous feeling, she looked up at him through her lashes. A second of quiet passed, but she could hear her heartbeat banging against her eardrums, and she could feel his stormy gaze.

"What happened to me?" She blinked, ending all bizarre enchantment. "Why are you here?"

Malfoy took a step back to add distance. "I told you all your past accidents weren't coincidental, Granger." His blank mask was back on. "You were attacked again. Do you not remember the outing we took to New York?"

"Yeah, I remember that. Blaise, Parkinson, Greengrass, and Nott were there too, weren't they? I remember—" She stopped, a hand flying to her chest immediately. The place in her body that had been killing her with pain since she woke up. "Sectumsempra?"

The blonde nodded, slowly and gravely.

"How...Who could it have been? Who else knows that spell? It's an original. No one should—" She stopped again, her eyes tearing up now. "Blaise, Malfoy! _Blaise_! I remember him falling! Where is he? Where's my brother?! Is he alright?"

"Granger," he took that step back, moving forward and his hand once again placed on her shoulder. "Zabini's fine. He had a concussion and a few scrapes, but he's alright."

That settled her erratic heartbeat a bit. "Where is he then?"

"With your father in his office," he responded. "They've been hounding the Ministry since you were brought to the Zabini Estate. Deon is furious."

Hermione swallowed. "And...And Mrs. Zabini?"

"With my mother," he said simply. And it wasn't missed by Hermione that he was hiding something again. She gave him a glare, demanding for the truth. "She...erm...She sort of fell into a depression the four days you've been unconscious, Granger. Apparently she's been suffering of those episodes for years."

Spirals of depression over her, Hermione was sure of it. "Can you go get her for me, Malfoy? Tell her that I'm awake."

He didn't do anything for anyone, but Draco was surprised himself that he nodded his head in compliance. He dropped his hand away from her shoulder and turned on his heels, heading for the door. But before he could reach it, before the nonverbal was even cast to open the doors, she halted him.

"Are we friends now, Malfoy?"

He cursed in his head, frowning, but turned to look at her from an angle. Why'd she have to go back to the intimate and emotional conversation? Hadn't he suffered enough expressing his need for her forgiveness? "I didn't ask for your friendship, Granger."

She was aching all over, concerned, but she smiled. Actually, it was more of a cheeky grin. "Yeah, but you want it anyway."

**X**

The few hours that had proceeded after her eyes had opened were a whirlwind. Blaise had arrived stampeding through from the lower levels of the mansion until he reached her room, throwing the door open and almost of its hinges. He wasn't the epitome of his refined manners when he did so, nor when he launched himself on her bed and pinned her to the mattress by hugging her so tightly. It had taken Mister Zabini a firm order until Blaise released his sister and the parents were allowed to get a good look at her.

Mister Zabini had on a serious expression, but his emerald eyes danced with a light of relief when they looked at her face. He didn't do much talking those few hours, but he did squeeze her hand and pressed a kiss on the top of her head. Hermione found that she appreciated that more than anything he could've said.

The matter of Allegra Zabini was entirely different. As she'd grown dizzy and tired from all of Blaise's commotion and Deon's grave expressions, Hermione hadn't noticed when the two Zabini males had exited her room and left her alone with the Mistress of the household. Mrs. Zabini had lingered by the door since the moment she entered the room and hadn't made any attempts in trying to move forward.

As both mother and estranged daughter had looked upon one another in a deafening silence, Hermione took that moment to really look at Mrs. Zabini. She was still elegant and well put together, but her eyes and the lines on her face spoke much more than her class. The woman's honey-colored eyes had been almost bloodshot, exhausted, guilty, scared, nervous, and wet with unshed tears. The woman had bore the weight of a terrified mother.

No one had spoken, but it seemed like both had been on the same page in the moment when Allegra left her place by the door and approached the bed. And when she had, when she looked down at the girl who was too pale and had been on the verge of dying, Mrs. Zabini had released all the tears that she'd been holding captive. She cried silently. Hermione had known the woman was holding back, and somehow she could see what Malfoy had said about Allegra Zabini suffering from depression.

How could she not? She had lived life for eighteen years with a hole in her chest because she'd given up her daughter. A daughter that was constantly being persecuted and hunted down like an animal. She had given her up, handed her to the Grangers for safekeeping, and yet she had been in just as much danger—or worse—than if she would've raised her herself. Not to mention that after getting that daughter back, a daughter that didn't want to be related to her and let a block of ice grow between them, someone was still trying to off her.

Having had not known what to say in that moment, all Hermione found that she could do was grit her teeth to hold her pain and scoot from the corner on the bed where she laid and leave some open space. She had raised her silk sheets and silently asked Mrs. Zabini to climb on in. It took four seconds of confusion and more tears before the woman actually did so. The rest of that day had proceeded in dreams and the faint murmurings of an Italian song entering her eardrums.

_Snap_. "Granger."

Shaking her head from the occurrences of two days ago, Hermione refocused her attention on the present moment. She found that she was still in her room, required to be resting by order of a private Healer the Zabinis had hired, and that there were silver eyes staring at her blankly.

"I think she must've gotten brain damage."

"You think so?"

"Look at her. She looks disoriented."

"That's the same look the Weasel wears, maybe it just rubbed off."

A frown appeared on Hermione's face. "I'm fine, you idiots," she snapped at both boys inside her bedroom.

From a seat around a conjured round table, Blaise grinned as he put a pause on the game of solitaire Wizards Chess he was having. "Just checking."

Hermione sighed, but said nothing to her half-brother. Sometimes there just wasn't any point in scolding Blaise. "What'd you want, Malfoy?" She asked the blonde that was still before her; too close to her.

Malfoy extended a small vial to her. "Blood-Replenishing Potion, Granger. Every two hours, remember?"

She parted her lips, but she couldn't find anything to say to him. It was very peculiar that Malfoy had been practically compelled into her room since she woke. The only moments he hadn't been inside was when the Zabinis all came inside or when she and Allegra fell asleep together. Other than that, here he was. He was there when the Healer came twice to check on her, when Button or Mrs. Zabini brought her food, and every two hours when she needed to take her potions he was the one that brought them to her.

He was being attentive and she hadn't a clue how to handle it.

"Thanks," she muttered as she carefully reached for the vail. She figured, and was most likely correct, that it was the way he was going to deal with his guilt. He felt responsible for what happened, just like when Bellatrix tortured her. But he hadn't any authority to do anything about it, either times, and she didn't blame him. She didn't even think about him in those moments to be perfectly honest.

Malfoy nodded and headed to the end of the purple room, directly to the massive bookcase. "Ever going to tell Potter and Weasley about what happened?" He called with his back turned.

Hermione coughed mid-drink. "_No_," she scoffed at the ridiculous thought. "Harry and Ron need not to concern themselves with what happens to me. They're on holiday, for goodness sake. I'm not about to go dampen that with some petty matter."

"It's not petty, Granger, when it's clear someone doesn't like you and is out to get you." He explored a section, scanning the titles almost carelessly. "Ever the hero, Potter would do anything in his power to catch whoever is the one that's trying so hard to kill you. And if Boy Wonder's up for adventure, the redhead Sidekick is no doubt aboard, too."

"Eloquent, Malfoy."

The Slytherin turned his head to look over his shoulder. His silver eyes danced curiously for a millisecond, noticing the frown on the brunette's face before they dissolved into indifference. "It's straightforward, Granger," he said nonchalantly. "You can't pretend this matter's simple. Your father has assembled a small army of Aurors to watch your every move now, to scout every perimeter of the Zabini Estate every hour, and a case has been opened just for you." He turned back to the bookcase. "Seems that you're the only one taking this lightly."

"Mister Zabini tells me _your _father is assisting," Hermione retorted, narrowing her eyes at the back of the Slytherin. She could see from the place in her bed that Malfoy had been running a fingertip over the collection of books, and she also saw when he abruptly stopped and tensed. "He's fulfilling his Godfather duties, isn't he?"

Draco let out a silent exhale, un-tensing his back after her comment. "I suppose so," he said casually, like it didn't matter. "So, if you're not going to tell the Dynamic Duo, are you at least going to accept your new bodyguards?"

"As if I have a choice," Hermione practically said with a groan. "Deon and Allegra aren't going to let me go back to Hogwarts without them. And if I attempt to resist, I really do believe they'll tell Harry and Ron themselves. Not to mention my parents—my muggle parents, that is. All to get me to see reason."

Malfoy laughed a short laugh. "And we all know how easy it is to have Hermione Granger see reason."

"I just don't see the point!" She crossed her arms indignantly. "Hogwarts is _safe_. There are impeccable security spells on the castle, not to mention the ones extending beyond the grounds, the centaurs forbid access to anyone from the Dark Forest to the castle, and we have an experienced staff!"

As Malfoy moved to the middle of the bookcase he threw her an unimpressed expression. "You were already attacked there, Granger. Seventh floor, third corridor, remember?" She scowled at him, obviously not liking being corrected. "What's so hard about admitting that there's someone after you?"

"Because I'm tired!" She said it and there was no taking it back. Damn Malfoy. She didn't want to admit it, for heavens sake. She didn't want to go there. "Is that what you want to hear? I'm _tired_, Malfoy! I'm tired of being hunted down like I'm some animal! I'm tired of having to watch my back, of having to hide, in not trusting anyone. I'm tired of being _hated_. I'm tired of having to live my life being nervous of what's to come."

Silence.

He was tempted to not turn. He really didn't want to. He wanted to keep scanning the books, even after he already found the one he was looking for, and just wait out the awkwardness until she spoke about nothing important again. But he had opened the box of Bertie Botts Every Flavored Fucking Emotions and there was no going back. He grabbed the book and turned.

He avoided her gaze until he was close enough, using the short seconds as time to remind himself that he pressed her and this is what he got. So he didn't like emotions and wasn't good with conversation, too damn bad now, really. He lowered himself on her mattress, clearing his throat at how _intimate _the action felt.

"Nothing's going to come," he spoke in a flat tone. "Now that it's known someone's trying to hurt you,you're protected; you're being watched. They're going to get whoever's doing this, Granger. This isn't going to be your life."

She swallowed to buy her a moment of time. "That's not comforting, Malfoy."

Of course it wouldn't be. "Then, because you're you, that should be enough comfort," he continued simply. "If there's anyone that can survive anything, that can overcome anything...it's _you_."

She didn't know why, but tears began to fill her eyes. "Really?"

Malfoy nodded solemnly, surely.

There was more silence among the two, but this time it wasn't avoided with backs turned and eyes not seen. No, eyes met this time. Deep and intense, unknown and glittering, silver and brown found something on the ones before them that they hadn't spotted before. It was, even if for the briefest second, like they discovered the holiest shade of color in one another. Stormy grey never looked so inviting, so open, so true, and auburn never looked so appealing, so beautiful, and so reachable.

An eyebrow rose up and a pair of emerald eyes looked on with a bit of question. First off, Blaise didn't like being ignored. It was not okay for the two other people in the room to have made him background. Secondly, what he was seeing was an equation—a brand new one. There were old variables, but with different values now. Simplify them and add them together and what would one get?

_Knock. Knock._

With a creak, the door opened. "Hermione?"

Removing his gaze away from the brunette, Draco turned once he heard a familiar voice. With the door open now, practically inviting himself in was Theodore Nott. He stood almost rigidly, exhaustion rimming his black eyes, and he wore a faint smile. He wasn't a master of emotions, but Draco could see guilt anywhere and Nott had it.

Hermione coughed uncomfortably. "Hey, Nott." She gave him a smile. She was worried about him, no one told him what had happened to Theo during the attack, and Mrs. Zabini had told her he'd been checking up on her since she was unconscious. As awkward as their situation was, Nott was sort of a friend.

"It's three now," he said, sounding just as uncomfortable as he looked.

"Oh, right," Hermione chuckled humorlessly. "Sorry about...this. I really can't do much about my appearance or the location so you get a cluttered room and me in my pajamas. Blame my Healer."

Blaise shot up from his seat, chucking his chess pieces. "_You_ invited him here? Why the hell would you invite him, Hermione? He's the enemy, _remember_?!" His sister opened her mouth but he cut across her. "Leave it to you to befriend the enemy!"

"Get your knickers out of a twist, Zabini," Malfoy said with an annoyed tone. "Grab the game and lets go to your sitting room. Don't you have a new Rum bottle from the Caribbean you've been bragging about?"

Blaise kicked his chair but said nothing. He instead pointed his wand and began to assemble the game and undo the spell that made a book into the table he'd been playing on.

While Zabini did that, Draco rose up from the brunette's bed and looked down at her. "You should read this. I know you've already finished the book Allegra gave you to read two hours ago."

He handed her the book he retrieved from her own bookcase. She looked at the withered book, classic and ancient. Beautiful. "Jane Eyre?" She asked, sounding thoroughly surprised as she fluttered her eyes back up at him. "You've read this?"

"You haven't?" He retaliated.

She smiled. "No, I haven't."

"Then you have to," Malfoy responded. "And just to clarify, Charlotte Brontë was a witch, and a very talented and insightful one. She was a friend to the Malfoy family—of course that was before they knew she was a muggle-born. But here's a secret for you, Granger, we appreciate good literature now as we did in the 1800's, no matter who wrote it."

She giggled. Hermione actually giggled at something that came out of Draco Malfoy's mouth. Her eyes lit up, her lips stretched to a grin, and she actually felt warm with laughter and amusement. "Thank you."

Draco nodded and said nothing. Once again, he turned on his heels and headed to the opposite end of the room.

Zabini made the game zoom out of his sister's room to head to his own, making it almost collide with Nott's head in its path to do so. "_Move it_," he hissed, shoving their fellow Slytherin out the way.

Seeing as he was going to be the last to leave Granger's room, it was his call to shut her doors. And as he was about to, the manual way for some odd reason, he turned and witnessed Nott move and claim the seat that he'd taken on her bed as his.

"Recovering from an attack and in your wrinkled sleepwear, yet you're still as lovely as always, Hermione," Nott complemented the brunette.

She snorted. "How badly were you hit from that attack, Theo? Has your vision gone faulty?"

Nott's back tensed slightly. He disregarded her comment when he instead said, "you're my fiancee, Hermione. I'm always going to think you're beautiful."

Draco slammed the doors shut with incredible force. With burning anger that blindsided him out of nowhere, he stormed his way to Zabini's sitting room and hoped the liquor was already served.

Something was off. Something had shifted and he hadn't a clue what it was.

* * *

**AN: Here you go! Finally! Some progression between our lovely D/Hr. Hope you liked it! I thought it was the best chapter so far. xD**


	14. Change of Heart

**Lover of the Light**

**Chapter Thirteen: **Change of Heart**  
**

Being a boy was never easy. No, scratch that. Being _Harry Potter_ was never easy. That title always came with the expectation to do something for the greater good, to always have the intention of fighting evils so others could be at peace and in harmony. Sure, that was great and all, not to mention he was a dire advocate for it, fought a damn war for it, but sometimes Harry Potter just wanted to be a complete shameless, destructive, selfish bastard.

The problem was he didn't know how to fully act on those self-centered desires.

It was all because of the Weasleys, really.

Harry had been in the Burrow two weeks _after _the war came to a concluding end. He had been staying at Grimmauld Place, no one but Kreacher as company for almost fourteen days as they both lived in the dark and silence. The windows had not been allowed to be opened so no owl could bring any word from the outside world. One day, however, the patriarch of the Weasley family had come into the ancient and dusty Noble House of Black in his usual quiet, soft demeanor, but with determination in his kind eyes. He didn't bother with small talk, not even when Harry had clung to it; Mister Weasley just demanded to know when he was going to pack his belongings and head to the Burrow.

'_I can't,'_ he had said to the man in a blank tone. He remembered feeling tired, not physically anymore, just mentally. He couldn't do it, couldn't face them all. That's why he hid. He told Mister Weasley exactly that. _'You need space to grieve. I'd just be intruding even more.'_

'_Nonsense,'_ Mister Weasley had retorted with a scolding look. He never wore one; Harry never remembered the man taking on the role of hard parent. But then again, nothing was the same since the end of war. People were different. _'Molly prepared Percy's old room for you. She's expecting you tonight by dinner, Harry. Your belongings and all. There will be no further discussion about this.'_

He wanted to stay in Grimmuald Place until the world outside wasn't destroyed or until it didn't hurt to be alive anymore. He wanted to stay there, locked in Sirius' old bedroom, looking through old photographs of those he'd lost. He wanted to stay in Grimmauld Place alone, secluded, with no one as company but an old house-elf and the always alluring bottle of Firewhiskey. He wanted to stay there and never interact with the people he tore apart.

Seven minutes to eight—that's the time he remembers seeing on the clock the night he entered through the backdoor of the Weasley home. The first person he saw had been George; it had nearly made him want to turn on his heels and walk away with the intention of staying gone forever. Looking at George had been excruciating. The redhead had stared back, first a little surprised and then neutral as he nodded.

'_We've been waiting for you,'_ he had said in a voice that was not amused, not teasing, not George at all. _'Good thing you're here, Mum was about to go looking for you.'_

He had wanted to turn, look away from George, run far away. He had wanted to go back and hide in Grimmuald Place, hide underneath a rock, disappear forever, but George had marched over and taken his trunk from his grasp. Harry hadn't missed the half-dead glint to his brown eyes as he led him to the living room. It had intensified his guilt by a hundred.

That night he returned to the Burrow he politely declined Percy's room and asked to bunk with Ron instead. His best friend had not minded, 'just like the good ol' days' he had said in a natural manner, and Harry had been a fool to believe that being around Ron might make everything feel better. Ron thrashed about his sheets that night, crying and screaming and calling for help, _calling for Fred_.

Three days later, Harry had discovered that Ron wasn't the only one that had nightmares. The walls of the Burrow shook with screams and cries. He didn't know who they came from, but it tore him apart even more. He had almost died the night Mrs. Weasley was the first to enter the realm of nightmares; crying for Fred with hysterics of an anguished mother. All of it his fault.

Despite his shame, he stuck through it. He went on and lived with the Weasleys despite his everyday urge to escape while they all slept through the agonizing nights. (Even planning to stay in Australia the four days he was there with Hermione in search for her parents.) Something forbade him to do so, though. It was Mister Weasley's sigh of relief when he came back from the Ministry and sat beside him, just reading the newspaper and sipping on a cup of tea while discussing mindless things; it was Mrs. Weasley's gentle pat to the cheek when she served him breakfast, the random hug throughout the day, and the calmness she had in her eyes when she made sure Ron and he were tucked in at night; it was his best friend trying to pretend like he was the same when it was clear to him that he wasn't, but he obliged in keeping normalcy; and it was Ginny's entire being that made him stay.

_Ginny._

He was always split into two whenever it came to her. It was always him wanting—_needing_—to be with her, yet obeying the voice in his head that demanded he protect her from everything he was and everything that came from that. She had been in danger before, before the fight against Voldemort escalated to the bloody massacre the final battle had been, and then it had been the danger he posed himself for all the grief and guilt in his heart.

It was like she was close enough to reach, but she was being kept behind a glass wall.

"—Oi, Potter! The celebration is out there, you know?"

Dropping the pitcher of Pumpkin Juice Mrs. Weasley had asked him to retrieve, Harry cringed for a moment when the object cracked against the floor and the juice had splashed around his feet; wetting his ankles.

"Where's your head, Harry?" With an amused eye-roll, Ginny Weasley approached the bespectacled boy with a small smirk stretching one corner of her mouth. She pulled out her wand as he just continued to stare at the mess in silence. "_Reparo._"

One, two blinks and then his green eyes were staring into her bottomless brown ones. He swallowed. Merlin, he really did need her.

The redhead raised a brow. "Harry?" She waved her wand back and forth in front of his face. "What are you thinking about?"

How? How can he listen to that voice that told him that he needed to stay far away from her, that voice that told him that her life would be better away from everything the Chosen One was, when she was that perfect? Her essence, every particle of her being was enthralling. Life was not going to see a rainbow over the storm if he let her go.

He was waiting all this time, keeping away from any topic of their relationship because he wanted to give her a chance to find something better than him. He had wasted weeks in keeping her at a distance because he told himself that it was better way.

To hell with that. Harry Potter was going to be selfish.

"You." Sincerity and determination took over his features as he stared the redhead right in the eye. "I was thinking about you."

She swallowed and kept her brow up. She was challenging him. She was unmoved by the butterflies in her stomach. Sad, but she knew that sometimes with Harry simplicity of words did not cut it. "Meaning?"

He smiled. Her fight was what he admired the most. It was one of the many things about her that made her glow like the moon in a stormy night. "I love you."

Her face went expressionless for a moment. "Do you now?"

"Of course," he replied instantly. "I love you so much. And I don't know what I've been doing trying to stay away from you, Ginny. Every day that passes...I fought for _you_, to get back to you because I missed you more than anything during my time on the run. I was an idiot for pushing you away after I could have you again."

"A downright imbecile, I agree." Tears sparkled her eyes, glazing them, but her lips were pulled into a large grin. "But I love you too, Harry." And frankly, she was used to waiting for him.

With identical smiles on their faces, both took a step towards one another at the same time. There was an empty pitcher of Pumpkin Juice between them, but they still closed the distance and connected their mouths.

The kiss was heavenly. The kiss was lightness fighting off the darkness. The kiss was hope seeping into his chest. The kiss was a new chapter for their old book of love for her. The kiss held promises that they both needed; that tied them. The kiss was just a symbol of the love between Harry and Ginny.

"Good thing there's a backup." Pulling away from Harry, Ginny swiftly picked up the pitcher from the ground, placed it on the kitchen counter, and grabbed the other pitcher full with Pumpkin Juice. She smiled at him and she stretched out her hand to him. "Come, the guest has arrived."

Harry happily took her hand. It was cliche, but he knew that his spot was meant to be next to her. If there was anyone in the planet that could be in love with him as _just Harry_ it was her.

As both walked into the living room, Ginny released his hand when he found another pair of amazing brown eyes looking at him. "Hermione!"

With a loud squeal, Hermione rose from her seat on the Weasleys' comfy, old couch and launched herself to her best friend.

As usual, her arms wrapped around him tightly, squeezing him. His face hid inside her massive curls but he didn't mind—they smelled like family. He picked her up from her feet, unaware that the pressure he was putting on her bones was somewhat painful.

"Happy Christmas!" She said to him, pulling on a gigantic grin after he released her. It masked her grimace of pain perfectly.

Harry returned the merry greeting and sat beside her; right in the middle of her and Ron. It was like old times, and he missed those terribly. "Where have you been, 'Mione?" He asked immediately. "You stopped writing a few days into the holiday. I had a right mind to head over to the Zabinis to scout for you."

Silence simmered among the throng of people in the living room. For a moment, Hermione's eyes scanned the faces of the two elder Weasleys in the room. She hadn't informed them in person about her newfound heritage, but she was sure the news had traveled to them from their two youngest children or Harry.

"It's perfectly alright, dear," Mrs. Weasley replied as she lowered the sweater she was knitting. "Don't feel ashamed in front of us. You know that we love you no matter what. You're still our Hermione."

Mister Weasley nodded, agreeing. "Come, Molly," he said to his wife. "We'll go set up the dining room for breakfast. George should be back with Bill and Fleur soon."

Smiling gratefully at her friend's parents, Hermione turned back to Harry when they exited the room. "It's...It's a little complicated."

"How so?" Ginny asked before Harry could. "Unless you were taken hostage by them, you should've really wrote back, Hermione. You know how terrifying it was missing two of you for days?"

Putting a momentary pause to her story, the brunette looked at the redheaded girl with confusion. "Two? Don't tell me Percy's secluded himself to the Ministry again."

"Dearest _Ronald _was gone for almost a week," Ginny informed, her eyes traveling to her silent brother. She was frowning at him, a parental sort of look that reminded the others of Mrs. Weasley's famous one. "Nearly gave Mum a heart attack."

Hermione's eyes went wide. "_A week?!_"

"At first we thought he ended up going to that visit to New York you invited us to, but he never showed up," Ginny explained. "He didn't say where he was, just that he needed to be out. He hasn't even begun to give us a hint and flat out ignores our questions."

Ignoring his sister and her begrudging tone, because he had already heard it all the day he came back to the Burrow, Ron instead looked at the brunette. "I'm alive, alright. That's all that matters." Hermione frowned at him, too. And right as she was going to open her mouth, no doubt lecturing him as well, Ron interjected with, "what's been with you, then? You've been the one gone longer than I've been."

This didn't happen often, but Hermione's disapproving retort was instantly sidetracked. She swallowed, letting a moment of silence pass before she spoke. She didn't know how she was going to break this to her best friends, but like with everything else, she owed it to them to be honest. She couldn't hide this from them forever, after all. Especially not by the rate time was speeding and the way things were developing.

"I'm getting married."

The thing was, that's all they needed to know for the moment. She knew that she _should _tell them about her attack, about being on a sickbed for three weeks, about someone apparently trying to kill her, but she couldn't do that to them. They were at peace—or attempting to get it. And it was the holidays, for Merlin sakes. Who was she to drop a bomb on them and expect them to live with worry or fear? She could take care of herself, she's always had. And if that didn't work out as she expected, Mister Zabini had hired bodyguards to station themselves around her premises at all times. Like right at that very moment. Unbeknown to Harry or the Weasleys, there currently was a few undetected guards just over the hill; surveilling and waiting.

Ginny dropped the glass of Pumpkin Juice she had just served herself. Her eyes opened wide in bewilderment, gaping, all while Harry and Ron mirrored that same expression.

"_What_?" However, Harry was the first to break the shocking silence.

She sighed, fiddling with the black, wooly scarf hanging from around her neck that Button the house-elf had chosen for her to wear that morning. "I'm not getting married with consent, so you might as well stop looking at me like I'm off my rocker." They didn't. "It's a daft marriage contract the Zabinis made before my birth. It was not only a Pureblood thing to do then, but apparently the Zabinis thought they could protect me from any impending doom if they tied me to another sole pureblood heir."

"—That's mental!"

"—Who's the bloke?"

Looking across at each other, Harry and Ginny narrowed their gazes for a moment. He had a frown because of her ridiculous question, and she rolled her eyes in a carefree attitude. So she was curious to know who it was, big deal. She'll get around to freaking out with him after that little bit of information was relieved.

Hermione blinked up at the girl for a quick second. "Theodore Nott."

"—_Nott_?!"

"—It could've been worse."

This time with completely different reactions, Harry and Ginny looked at each other with frowns again.

"What do you mean it could've been worse? She's betrothed to Nott!"

Hermione cringed, but no one but Ron saw her do it. Harry was just shrugging and looking at Ginny. "She could've been betrothed to the likes of Goyle or Flint. Pureblood parents must not realize how troll-looking their kids might end up looking after birth or their toddler years. I'm just saying she could've gotten a thickhead like that."

Ginny gave the dark-haired wizard an odd look. "Honestly, Hermione," she turned back to the brunette, "I would've assumed, if they were throwing marriage contracts around, that you'd get Malfoy. His parents are your Godparents, are they not? It would've made more sense."

Hermione knitted her brows in vague concentration for a moment. She hadn't thought of that before, but the redhead had a point. Why Theo? Why not Malfoy?

"Please tell me there's a way to get out of it." Interrupting her thoughts about the Slytherin Prince, thank goodness for that, Hermione found that Harry was looking warily at her. "You can't marry Nott, Hermione. The Zabinis can't do that to you."

She gave him a sad smile. "When have things ever been that easy, Harry?"

"Mental, this is!" Harry threw his arms in the air, aggravated. "Not more than four months in and they already mucked it up! What else can possibly happen to you, Hermione?"

Tears began brewing in her orbs. "I'm scared, Harry," she confessed, but there was so much more to it than just an unwanted engagement to Nott, "and so tired. I don't want to keep fighting for my life, for my rights...You know me better than that, I'm not going to give up. I'm not going to walk down an aisle because a ridiculous contract forces me to do so. But...But I just ask that you stand beside me, please. Just stand there so I'll know I'm not alone."

"Of course you're not alone, 'Mione." Surprising, maybe up to par with the brunette's revelation, Ron stood from the opposite end of the couch and headed right for Hermione. He took a seat on the armrest, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and reeling her into him. There wasn't an easy going smile on his face that used to make her heart melt, but his eyes glowed with loyalty of a friend that he'd never lost.

She stared into his blue eyes and found another silent revelation. She used to think that his gaze had to be the most charming thing she'd ever set her eyes on, but somehow that diminished. It wasn't like his particular shade of blue wasn't appealing, it had just suddenly gone from magical and alluring to calm and familiar. She used to look into his eyes and see her future—a future full of love, romance, and happy endings. Now she just saw memories, comfort, and family.

She had stopped being in love with Ron.

How it happened, she didn't know. It sort of hurt her, if she could be honest with herself. She thought that loving Ron was eternal, like the sun and the moon, but it wasn't. It hadn't been. She was sure that at a point she and Ron would have the relationship that was sprouting since Second Year, but it hadn't come. It never did nor it will. And maybe, just maybe, it hurt her because life's not always the way you want it to be.

And by a certain gleam in his eyes, something that wasn't adoring or enchanted anymore, Hermione knew that Ron was no longer in love with her either. And maybe, just maybe, he hadn't for a while now.

The past few months had been filled with distance, small talk, and avoidance of eye-contact—they had been mourning that love. But Parvati Patil had once told her, surprisingly accurate, that just because they had lost that didn't mean the friendship had died with it. And, if she was to be honest with herself again, friendship was the best thing for Ronald and her.

They were going to be forever loyal to one another, no matter what. Best friends to the end, and even after that.

"Is there anything we can do?" Ron asked.

Harry and Ginny exchanged a glance with each other, a little confused themselves about how friendly the redhead was being, especially since he wanted nothing to do with Hermione for months. They said nothing, however; just smiled at one another and turned back to the other two to know if there was anything they could do for the brunette.

Hermione gave Ron a dim smile for a moment before turning to the others. "Actually," her voice came out low and soft, "there is something you can do for me."

She pulled out a fancy-looking invitation from the left pocket of her coat.

**X**

For a moment, it was silent and he looked at the surroundings with blank eyes. He was there to get a moment of air, to breathe, to calm his nerves, but everything around him was making him nauseous.

The ballroom at the bottom level of the Zabini Estate was one of the largest rooms in the entire location. It extended for several miles, almost impossibly so. It was schemed beige and deep gold from top to bottom, breathtaking and ancient. Everything about it was exquisite: every gold line, every arch, every post, every flare, every tile, every mirror, every door, and source of light. On its own, the ballroom was something constructed to be worshipped, to be admired, and it was.

But that was before, when it was lonesome and nothing obscured its beauty.

The ballroom was currently filled with things suggesting a festivity or celebration. There were fifty circled, beige tables forming a large and wide rectangle along the edges of the room; leaving enough space at the center of the ballroom for entertainment. Each table had eight ruby-red chairs with gold borders perfectly tucked in. On the surface of every table were eight individual sets of silverware: two white plates with golden rims stacked on each other, stainless silver eating utensils, a ruby goblet with a detailed base, a spotless Champagne glass, and a red napkin-cloth scrolled and tied with a sparkly, golden ribbon. And every one of those fifty circled tables held a decorative wreath as a centerpiece; emerald, silver, gold and ruby ornaments tangled with sparkling leaves to make a ring around a golden candle that melted its particular color.

On a regular basis, the ceiling of the majestic room had three massive chandeliers glittering in a straight line from the light of the sun when the windows were opened or by conjured light. This particular night, however, the finely detailed crystals of each chandelier was plagued with the company of hundreds of string lights taking over the empty spaces between them. They fell three, four and five feet from the enchanting ceiling, looking like strings of falling little stars. And on top of that, individual snowflakes fell along with them, but they never touched the floor.

Everything was set up and ready to go.

He would've found that specific scene around him as something to be proud of, something to boast over his riches and tastes, but the need to do so was far gone that night. He didn't want his home to be the talk of the night, the impressive ballroom to be admired by anyone who entered it, and he didn't want anyone lusting over his wealth when the conversation revealed that every line of gold on the walls of the ballroom was solid and real.

He didn't want this night to be happening at all.

Sighing, Blaise uncrossed his arms from his chest. He boredly smoothed the wrinkles he might've caused the white tuxedo jacket he was wearing. It had silky black lapels that led down to white buttons that he left open. Underneath that, he wore a simple black button-up that matched his black trousers and dress shoes. He didn't wear a tie—he was protesting the night by refusing to be up to par with the refined manners and appearance he was supposed to withhold by being a Zabini.

Narrowing his green eyes at his usually-beloved ballroom, Blaise turned on his heels and headed to the two closed beige doors. He reached for the golden handle of one, turned it, and once it was open his vision took up the crowded entrance hall of the Zabini Estate.

Weaving around the very sizeable group of invited guests, Blaise headed to where he knew he needed to be several minutes before. And as he approached, he looked up for a moment and saw a peek from a hidden girl on top of the balcony.

"I don't know if I can do this, Button." Quickly hiding behind the marbled wall when Blaise's unamused eyes looked into hers for the briefest of seconds, Hermione looked down at the small creature keeping her company. "There's thousands of people down there."

Dressed in her best attire, a doll-like purple dress custom made for her, Button the house-elf took it upon herself to ease her Mistress' nervousness. "Mathematically speaking, Miss, Jovi tolds Button there be four-hundred guests."

Hermione gave the house-elf a grimace. "Why does this have to happen like this, Button? Why do I need...Why does..."

"Tradition, Miss," Button replied when the girl trailed off.

"Rubbish traditions," Hermione muttered as she shook her hands. She was starting to go numb, and she was sure it was due to the fast-brewing panic in her chest and not the chilly air in the hall where she was hiding.

Button said nothing in response to that. She might be a house-elf, but she agreed with the Miss that pureblood families had some unlikeable customs. "Master Zabini says to you, Miss, that you can choose not to go through with this."

"Deon said so, but he knows that it's not that simple," replied Hermione to the little creature as she pressed her back to the cold marble wall. She inched closer to the edge, centimeter by centimeter, and once she was close enough, she peeked around the corner of it again.

Both impeccably dressed and put-together—he in a satin silver tuxedo and she in a satin, two-tone, floor-length dress—Mister and Mrs. Zabini stood together in an open space left in the middle of the two staircases that arched upwards and connected to form a balcony above. The couple stood behind a massive, eleven foot Christmas tree that was decorated in ruby-reds, golds and silvers.

"Welcome—" Mister Zabini's deep voice sounded off in the large entrance hall of his mansion, settling the conversations among the guests. "Welcome, Friends, to our home. My wife and I are very honored that all of you have chosen to attend our celebration during a time of family and to be in your very own home."

The arm around her husband's waist tightened, and that's how Mrs. Zabini silenced him. He was trying to sound pleasant and inviting, but Allegra heard the bitter and judging tone underlying every word he spoke.

Deon was not pleased, nor did he want any single person in the crowd to be here tonight.

"We invited you here this evening to rejoice with us a wound that has finally healed amongst my family." Looking at her guests head-on, Mrs. Zabini summoned all her pride to stay calm, collected, and firm. "Eighteen years ago, when Deon and I moved here from our motherland, we were expecting our first-born. As some of you may know, the delivery of our daughter was broadcasted among our society as tragic. Aria Sienna Zabini was pronounced dead due to labor complications."

The room felt ten times smaller for Mister Zabini. It was like the people,_ all the bloody people_, grew larger and were suddenly pressing up against each other like there was no room for them. He felt sick looking at them, sensing them. Their eyes looked eager and curious with every word that Allegra let out—hungry for the accounts of that dreadful day.

This was not easy for him, possibly more than it was for the girl who hid in the level above. He had to stand there under the pressing gazes of his acquaintances, friends, some relatives, business partners, and members of the same circles. He had to stand there and let them listen in on what a failure as a man, father and husband he had been. He had to stand there and endure their learning of the pain he had caused his wife, the hole he had created in their family tree, and the life he had destroyed by condemning it a lie.

He stood there by his wife, loyally like he intended to for all eternity, but felt like the scum of the earth. He had to re-listen to the tragedy he had created; memories he could never forget; a reality that could never be forgiven.

"...due to that, we hid her." Deon was right on time to witness the bewildered expressions and to hear the next part of their tale. "We gave our daughter away to two muggles—to two of my _friends_. They raised her, kept her safe, gave her all they could while we continued mourning the death of Aria to the public. Our daughter was meant to stay hidden, from the world, from us under the Glamour Charm, but life's tricky sometimes. She became a warrior, the most famous witch of her generation and known throughout our world."

Not only had he given his daughter up to muggles, made her be raised as a muggle-born, a shame to the generations of purely bred Zabinis, but he had placed her in more danger than if they would've kept her. It was too late by the end of her First Year at Hogwarts to make things right, to pull her away from the harm of associating with Harry Potter; active Death Eaters knew of her. Eleven, _a child_, and the most abhorred Mudblood in decades.

He failed her as a father even then.

He had to look at his wife from that year on with shame and constant pleads of forgiveness. He had led their daughter down a path of prejudice and definite attempts of slaughter—and he had to let it. He had to allow her to continue on with that road because he had to think about Allegra, he had to think about _Blaise_. If any Death Eaters, if the Dark Lord knew of her true identity, of the betrayal, they'd kill them all; one by one.

And he had to live with that. He had to live with the fact that not only did he give her up, but he chose his wife and son over her and left her well-being to a divine miracle.

"...but like it is accustomed within our ancient traditions, our daughter was betrothed to a pureblood heir to continue with our legacy before her birth." Sure, that explanation was the sugar-coated version of the many plans Allegra and he had to make for their daughter's safety. "And for that reason as well, we gathered all of you here today to celebrate the engagement of our daughter."

In a way, his daughter taught him the value of a life; pureblood or not. He didn't leave Italy a reaper of pureblood mania, but he _had _been brought up the same bigoted way like all the others. He was above all, his blood was superior, and all others weren't worth a second glance. His pride had been shattered when he gave her up to the Grangers, karma to his beliefs. And because of that, he was cured and taught a lesson. And if there was an upside to this disaster, it was his daughter's life as Hermione Granger that he was grateful for.

She was much more Allegra than could've been expected if she was raised a Zabini, and that was beautiful. Both were compassionate, both saw the humanity and good within a person, and both were lovers of the light.

His thoughts were interrupted when the crowd before him started shifting about, getting closer, looking up. He copied the action when he saw Allegra and Blaise doing the same—she was now on the balcony. His emerald eyes locked in with the brown ones of his daughter.

_She'd been pushed! _

She had been freaking out when she heard Mrs. Zabini call out for her, her back pressed against the marble wall, staying hidden, heaving for air, muttering that she couldn't go through with this, when Button had pushed her from around the corner. She had stumbled, but the crowd had not seen it past their gaping and their dropped jaws.

All the attention was on her, every single person there solely focused on her, but she had only locked eyes with Mister Zabini first. He looked tormented and apologetic, and she sadly found that that wasn't a strange thing for him. She blinked away from him and looked at the crowd: she spotted Kingsley Shacklebolt, the new Minister of Magic; Aurors who had been with the Order; Mcgonagall; Flitwick, Slughorn; Daphne Greengrass and her parents; Goyle and his mother; the Flints, by the look of them; Parkinson; the Abbotts; Neville and his grandmother; Zacharias Smith and his family; the Grangers, who had been surprisingly invited by Mrs. Zabini, Harry, Ron and Ginny next to them, causing her eyes to burn with the threat of tears; and then the Malfoys.

Being the ones taking up the front row of the surrounding crowd, along with her muggle-parents and her beloved friends, Hermione easily locked eyes with Draco Malfoy. But for a moment, for the tiniest one, he didn't look at her with a masked stare. He had looked up at her like he was seeing something truly extraordinary. She was tempted to look behind her, to see if Merlin himself was there, but that urge had been subsided when Mrs. Zabini called for her to descend from the staircase on the left.

With her hand on the black, eccentric rail that had gold and ruby ribbons swirling around it in decoration, Hermione took her first public step as a member of the Zabini family.

_She looks beautiful,_ Allegra thought as she watched her daughter silently climb down the staircase, _like a queen. _There was no doubt that the dress Hermione was wearing, the dress that she and Narcissa had assisted her in choosing, was perfect and fit like a glove.

The top half of the dress bore a sweetheart neckline, very feminine and tasteful. It exposed the smooth and creamy skin of her chest and shoulders. That top half was drenched in golden sparkles, sequined that looked like gems every time she moved. And giving the appearance that they were slowly melting off, some sequins touched the flowing, gold skirt of the floor-long dress. Her brown curls were parted at the middle and they fell into beautiful, glamorous waves down her back. Her face was kept as natural as possible, upon her very request. Her eyes were rimmed with brown eyeliner, just enhancing their shape, and mascara elongating her eyelashes. A flush of peach tainted the apples of her cheeks, and her lips were glossed with a tasteful pink shade.

She really was a heavenly sight.

Hermione's focus shifted between her muggle-parents, between Ron and Harry, between Blaise, between Malfoy. She was trying to summon courage from them; she looked deep into their eyes to get reassurance that she was going to be okay.

But before she could feel absolutely sure whether or not she made the right choice in not running away the previous night, she was now standing among the three Zabinis and staring at all the astounded guests.

"Our daughter, Hermione Granger."

Hermione shook, her palms quivering, and Blaise was fast to clasp one of her hands with his. She smiled dimly at Mrs. Zabini, grateful that the woman had not changed her identity fully to Aria Zabini. She knew it was the woman's greatest wish, but she also knew progress came slowly from Hermione's part.

"And her fiancée, Theodore Nott Jr."

Ironic, but Hermione had forgotten all about the real reason why this Christmas ball was being held. It hadn't been for the introduction as a Zabini to their world, but over a resurrected marriage contract that Mrs. Nott was practically blackmailing the heads of the Zabini family with. She stood there because the woman wanted everyone to know about her forced engagement to her son.

Stepping away from the crowd, Hermione surprisingly found that Nott had been a lot closer to her loved ones than she assumed. She hadn't sought after him when she was up in the balcony or as she descended down the staircase, but there he was. Dressed in a slick, classic and elegant black tuxedo, his usual tousled locks smoothed back, he approached her. And the closer he got, the more she noticed that he was equally as nervous and unstable as she was.

That somehow comforted her.

They stared at one another for a moment: afraid, appalled, nervous, embarrassed, friendly, and, for the moment, _resigned_. He gave her a small version of his usual charming smile and she returned an attempt of one.

Blaise frowned in distaste, not caring that the world was there to see his disapproval. And like an analogy of Nott's betrothal to his sister, his hand slipped away from Hermione's and he watched as Nott took her from him.

As Theo clasped her hand with his, their fingers lacing, their palms shaking together, a slow clap started among the crowd when Hermione willed herself to look at the guests as the future Mrs. Nott.

**X**

Everything was going unpredictably well.

There were people, old and too refined, people with looks of rancor and bigotry, that narrowed their eyes as she passed, like they didn't agree with the Brightest Witch of Her Age sharing the same clean blood as them. She met them directly in the eye when they appeared to be smelling something foul, making sure that she was unmoved, that she was just as disapproving of them as they were of her. She was always going to be the famous Mudblood to them, despite her true genetics, and she didn't mind it one bit.

On the other hand, there were several pureblood families eager to meet her. When Deon and Allegra made her walk with them, introducing her to their business associates or powerful acquaintances, they were all very polite and curious. When their eyes fell upon her it was like they were seeing a hidden treasure, like something terrific had fallen on their laps that could change the way things worked.

It was depressing to know that a change of blood status made them enthusiastic in meeting her.

She couldn't be so judging of every member of pureblood society that she met, however. When the Zabinis had dragged her over to formally meet the Goyles, she had been thoroughly surprised and momentarily frightened when Katherine Goyle embraced her. The woman had pulled her into a hug, kissing both her cheeks, and smiled like the sun was shining down on her. A bit startled still, Hermione had then been told that Mrs. Goyle was a business associate of Allegra's and that both excellent friends. The ten minutes they spent chatting with the woman, all while Goyle just looked down in embarrassment, unable to meet his classmate's eyes, she found that the Slytherin's mother was sincerely friendly. The same happened when she met the Bulstrodes—much to Millicent's apparent annoyance that her parents found the Gryffindor Princess alluring—and even the Greengrasses.

In the time spent allowing the Zabinis to proudly introduce her to their circle, Hermione had also met relatives of theirs. The first she came across with was a woman named Abri Vivaldi, Allegra's cousin. The woman was tall, beautiful, and shared some of the many charming features that Mrs. Zabini had. They had the same high cheekbones, same full lips, distinctive nose, and the glittering golden eyes. Aside from that, unlike Allegra black locks, Abri's were blonde with undertones of brown and she was much paler. The woman was quite friendly, happy to hug Hermione, putting herself out there for bonding time if she ever wanted it, and very chatty. In the short time with her, Hermione learned that Abri was the only Vivaldi that associated with Allegra after her 'shameful' escape from Italy; that she and Mrs. Zabini were the same age and inseparable growing up; that she was in charge of the Vivaldi fortune, though her passion was painting; and that their Great-Grandfather had passed away a month prior.

Hermione had looked up at Mrs. Zabini after the latter's cousin carelessly revealed such information, but Allegra remained her collected self. What Hermione was aware of, Allegra's great-grandfather was responsible for her sister's death, and she didn't know how the woman would react to his passing.

The reaction was uneventful. Mrs. Zabini had just bid her cousin a short goodbye for a moment, and then she and Deon led their daughter to a group of seven; one of those being Blaise.

'_Hermione_,' Mister Zabini had spoken firmly, eyes guarded, '_this is my family_.'

The first person to kiss her cheeks and smile at her was a young woman named Bianca Zabini, Deon's only sister and youngest sibling. The woman was of average height and had smooth, tanned skin that complimented her intense emerald eyes and chestnut curls. Everything about her aura was light and enthralling, but Hermione had noticed that she fought to keep herself rigid and still.

'_Mia nipote!_' Among the throng, a man had stepped forward with a delighted call that startled her for a moment and that made Blaise grin. '_E 'un piacere incontrarti, finalmente!_' That man had been Jenoah Zabini, Deon's youngest brother. At first glance at him, he was intimidating. He was massive, rippling with muscles that threatened to explode out of his fine dressing-robes. He was equally as dark-skinned as Deon, and both bore the same trimmed and proper goatee. Despite Jenoah's booming appearance, the man had a kind face with soft features; emerald eyes like Deon and Bianca. And when he smiled, it was like a teddy bear was smiling.

The next person Hermione met was an older woman named Roma Zabini, the matriarch of the clan. She was of average height as well, deep brown curls that fluffed around her shoulders, and her eyes had to be the ones passed down the line. They were wide, almond-shaped, rimmed with thick lashes, and green like the brightest emeralds. She greeted Hermione with a smile, a gentle kiss to her cheeks, but stayed composed. But even as she did so, the girl caught the gleam of tears in the woman's eyes.

If the introduction to Deon's family had ended there, Hermione would've sincerely said that she could see herself associating with them. Of course, nothing could be that simple. The two members left to greet her in the group of gathered Zabinis were two men, one around his early forties and the other reaching his late sixties. Father and older brother of Deon's.

Stefano Zabini was fearful at first and continuous glance. He was tall, broad-shouldered, built like a bodybuilder, and had a dark, black gaze of animosity. He was a definite contrast among his siblings and mother. And Hermione hadn't miss the glare he kept on Deon the entire time of interaction.

The last Zabini that she'd been introduced to was Domenico Zabini, the patriarch of the ancient family. He was a man of no expression, cold and blank. His black eyes, alike his oldest son's, bore no interest but occasionally narrowed at Deon. He was a white-haired man that stood as if he was exhausted, but tried with all his might to remain whole and commanding.

"I don't think the Zabinis liked me." At the first chance of freedom she got from meeting guests, Hermione found the closest group of familiars to vent to. "Honestly, I don't think they even like Allegra."

Refilling his glass with sparkling Champagne, Blaise snorted at his sister as Potter, Weasel, She-Weasel, Greengrass and Parkinson looked at her awkwardly. "Nonsense, _Zia_ Bianca and _Zio _Jenoah adored you. As did _Nona _Zabini. Just don't expect her to be cuddly and affectionate, she can't work that way. But she does send amazing packages for Christmas, Birthdays, and Easters."

Hermione frowned disapprovingly at her half-brother. "I don't care about gifts, Blaise," she sounded scolding, "what I care about is being a part of a family that loathes one another. There's hate among Allegra's own family, and an apparent one from the Zabinis to Deon. It's depressing."

"It's _life_," replied Blaise nonchalantly. "I won't say it's not horrible, but Father and Allegra knew what they were getting into when they decided to run away from Italy like two lovesick fools. She shamed her family, and Father disappointed his father and older brother. There's resentment everywhere for what they did, and, sadly, it can't be fixed."

She huffed, crossing her arms over the sequined top of her dress. "I refuse to believe that."

"You know _I _refuse to believe—" Cutting across the Gryffindor's rant, Daphne Greengrass made herself noticed. "That you and Granger are related." She turned to her ex-boyfriend who sipped from his glass like there was no care in the world. "You could've told me that when I accused you and her of being together. I look like a damn fool now, Blaise!"

Zabini took another sip of his Champagne. "You look like a fool regularly, Greengrass; don't blame me for that. Besides, I don't owe you explanations of anything. Take a look at Parkinson, she doesn't care."

All eyes turned to the dark-haired witch in the table. She was sitting silently beside Daphne, almost undetected. She _had _been shocked learning Granger's true identity, but she had things of her own to worry about. Besides, she was also busy deciphering the code gleaming in Ron Weasley's eyes every time he stared at her without reserve.

"Here," Blaise handed his sister a flute of Champagne. "You better start drinking up, Hermione, because in a few minutes Mrs. Nott is going to start arranging for you and her git-faced son to start taking pictures like the lovely betrothed couple you are."

Harry frowned at Zabini, taking the glass from his extended hand and downing it himself. Loyally next to him, Ginny patted his shoulder. "I still can't believe there's no way out of this," he retorted angrily. "There _has _to be a loophole out of this contract other than death."

For the first time in history, Blaise didn't glare at Harry. Instead, he snatched back the glass, refilled it, and handed it back to him with a mischievous sneer. "I've suggested gutting Nott like an animal, but Hermione refuses to sacrifice him. As such, there might actually be a way out of this."

Silence and brows knitted.

"What are you on about?" Hermione snapped. "Do you know something I don't?"

"Doubt it," Ron muttered with a scoff.

Zabini ignored the redheaded Weasel. "Let's just say Father's missing the marriage contract from his archives and its currently sitting as copies in the offices of a Curse Breaker, Historian, member of the Magical Law Enforcement department, and even with the new Minister."

Confusion was still among the group.

"They're studying it, trying to find a way to break the magic within it," Blaise told them as if the reason had been obvious. "I was all up for bribing them to _create _a loophole, but Malfoy said Hermione wouldn't appreciate the matter turning illegal because she's—"

"_Malfoy_?" Hermione's eyes were wide now. "Why's Malfoy involved with this?"

The Slytherin smirked at his sister, teasing and secretive. "It was his idea, of course. You see, while Father is trying to fight off the contract with lawyers, Malfoy suggested we needed someone to break apart the magical binds in the contract."

She swallowed, blinking away from Blaise to look at the tabletop. She didn't know why or how, but a swarm of butterflies had suddenly appeared inside of her. They fluttered their wings, tickling her insides, creating astounding tingles of gratitude, of surprise, of relief, of _joy_.

Malfoy was searching for a way out of her betrothal to Nott. Malfoy was trying to give her her liberty back; her choice to marry when and to whom she decided. Malfoy was doing something purely for her happiness.

Why?

"Ah, here he comes."

At the pointed finger Blaise gave, Hermione turned around to look at the north end of the ballroom. Surely enough, Draco Malfoy was approaching them. And he wasn't alone. He was talking to a man and a woman, looking thoroughly enthralled with the conversation. His silver eyes were concentrated, and when his mouth wasn't forming words, it was stretched into a breathtaking smile at whatever his company said.

"So that's where you parents went," Harry commented from the background.

The butterflies, the joy, the surprise multiplied inside of her as she kept her eyes focused on Malfoy strutting his way across the ballroom floor, getting closer.

Her heart almost leaped out of her chest when he blinked away from the older couple and found her eyes.

He was bringing the Grangers to her.

* * *

**AN: LONGEST CHAPTER EVER!**


	15. Of Open Doors

**Lover of the Light**

**Chapter Fourteen:** Of Open Doors**  
**

She was staring at him again. She tried not to, she really did, but without permission her eyes just moved from the page of her book to the person sitting across from her. It was completely unacceptable. She was not okay with losing concentration like that, with her eyes daring to shift away from the incredible writing of the book she was reading; and let her not get into the fact that her brain had the audacity not to process word for word what was going on in the story. For goodness sakes, she was stuck on the same page for twenty-seven minutes now. She was tempted to hit her head repeatedly on the surface of the table just to get everything in order again. She really was close to doing so, but she was certain that if she gave in to that he'd see what he causing.

What on Merlin's earth was he causing, anyway? She hadn't the foggiest.

Whatever it was, it was _not _okay. Her mind and body were going rogue. It was not simply that she kept staring at him, eyes zooming to his persona like he was some sort of magnetic field, nor that her brain couldn't concentrate on the simple task of reading a book; it was that her mind was coming up with absurd thoughts. It started processing the idea that it was perfectly fine to be around him, to enjoy their conversations, the silence, the banter, the witty insults. Her mind was starting to formulate the concept of letting him in.

She'd been completely honest with him when she said she forgave him for the terrible things he said and did to her since they were children, but she never really considered friendship sprouting from that. She figured her forgiveness was what he needed to breathe a little better, to relieve some weight of his past on his shoulders, to ease his nightmares, _and that was it_. The long shot was becoming respectful familiars. Fate, however, was drawing up another conclusion.

Draco Malfoy was becoming a decent human being in her eyes.

Stripping away all of his defensive mechanisms, the way he nastily tended to stay on top of the food chain, and adding all the changes he'd gone through since the war, all the lessons he'd learned and the effort he was putting in living in present times—well, that was some sort of intriguing.

She always believed the best in people, and there'd been a time when she believed that Malfoy was one of the exceptions of that belief, but now she was being proved wrong. If there was something Hermione thrived on, it was a challenge and seeing it to the end to receive the correct answer. Except, in this case, she wasn't sure if she liked it.

He was becoming easier to be around with after he apologized: he talked a little more freely, sometimes revealing things she'd never figured she'd know about him, like his favorite book, random events in his childhood, or his fascination for Potions and Alchemy. He still liked to have a blank mask on most of the time, a coldness about him that seemed like walls to hide behind, but there were few occasions when he smiled, when he smirked teasingly, when he said something pleasant, or when he laughed. (Merlin, she never thought she'd hear him laugh without malice.)

He asked questions about her, too. He asked what her favorite book was; who her favorite author was, magical and not; what her favorite memory was as a child; what she wanted to do after Hogwarts; why she found Ancient Runes so fascinating, why she was so stubborn—he particularly asked that question a lot—and if she thought people were split in either black or white.

He was surprising her with his neutral side. And though she could never forget what he did, what he said, who he used to be, she was beginning to see him as something new. Her mind was starting to swamp the image she had of him as ignorant pureblood to a boy who didn't have a choice. She was starting to see him not as a previous supporter of blood supremacy, but as someone caught in the complicated scheme of war and power. She was starting to see him as the boy who was willing to commit murder to ensure his parents' well-being—something she could not judge at all because she'd do it in a heartbeat if that was the only choice; even now.

No matter the fight with her brain, the proof of truth was irrevocable. Malfoy was changing; adapting himself into her life without even giving her a chance to deny access.

'_Sweetheart, you look gorgeous!'_

_Clearing her throat, removing her bewildered and fascinated eyes from Malfoy's grey ones, Hermione smiled largely at Jennifer and Richard Granger; her muggle-parents. 'Mum,' despite her previous loss of words, her voice came out high and squeaky, 'Dad, I'm so glad you're here!'_

_Blaise grumbled something in the background, but Hermione chose not to reprimand him when she stretched her arms as wide as she could and put them around both Grangers. Her father pressed a kiss to the top of her head, her mother squeezed her lovingly, and Hermione felt a completeness at having them so near. It had been four months since she last saw them, the tears in her eyes were excusable._

'_I'm sorry I didn't greet you earlier,' she said to them as they pulled away from her, Mrs. Granger wiping underneath her eyes to make sure her makeup had not smeared and she still looked presentable for the hundreds of eyes attentive of her every move. 'Deon and Allegra wanted me to meet some people."_

_Mrs. Granger narrowed her eyes slightly at the brunette in a scolding manner. 'It's quite understandable, Hermione. Your mother and father have been waiting years for this.'_

_Hermione wanted to frown at her muggle-mother. She wanted to tell the woman that despite the weeks that'd past, despite the fact that she truly was working on letting the Zabini couple in, _they _were still her parents. _

_Knowing both well enough, Mister Granger decided to ease the tension. He hadn't wanted to step foot into the magical world to see the girl he raised be claimed by others, but this was a happy moment. This was a moment of a Granger reunion, no matter the people around._

'_Don't worry, sweetheart; Draco here kept us company.' Placing a hand on the boy's shoulder, Mister Granger smiled kindly when the blonde looked up. He seemed a little more reserved, tensed, compared to the past few minutes, but he didn't pay any mind to it because he didn't understand it. 'He was explaining to Jenny and I the history behind the moving, ancestral portraits. Quite fascinating, really.'_

_Malfoy glanced over to Hermione, a flicker of inspection danced over all of her for a millisecond, but then he was back to that expressionless mask. _

'_And we met his parents,' Mister Granger continued, making not just Hermione puzzled, but all the other young witches and wizards behind her, too. 'Both very pleasant and accommodating like their son. They took turns to explain to us the purpose of a few things that caught our attention.'_

'_Mrs. Granger cut in, 'Draco let on that he's known you since you were young, Hermione. Why'd you never mention that?'_

_Though they were in a crowded ballroom with over four-hundred guests, including a small orchestra playing live music, Hermione felt like the silence that fell over the group was deafening. Her eyes scanned one parent to another and then quickly landed on the blonde boy beside them. His jaw was squared off, the hands at his sides balled into fists, and if the glint in his eyes was anything to go by, Hermione could see that he was having a war with himself._

_There went his guilt again. Not just his, but the one he also carried for his father's sins when it came to her._

_She locked eyes with the Slytherin for a brief moment that he missed the determination in her gaze. 'Malfoy and I weren't friends then, Mum,' she sounded so sure and nonchalant. 'But we are now. I'm glad you met him...'_

_We are now_, she mused as she drifted off from the memory of three nights ago. Had she just said that to ease, not just Malfoy's guilt, but the curiosity her mother had? Or had she, even then, mindlessly already let him in?

Mumbling to herself, crossing her arms over her chest and obscuring her view of the open book, Hermione became frustrated.

He had specifically said that he never asked for her friendship, just for her forgiveness, yet he practically waltz his way into her life. That tosser. He might be changing and all that rubbish, but Hermione was positive he was still that slick, lying, manipulative—

"Something on your mind?"

A fraction of her brain was about to correct the one silently insulting the Slytherin, using a bit of conscience and reasoning to make her see that she was just upset at him because she was upset with herself for trusting Malfoy out of all people. Her brain, that traitor, was about to school her, but instead her eardrums picked up the voice from the person across from her.

Malfoy had a blonde brow raised, his stormy-colored eyes not showing particularly anything as she met his gaze.

"Just thinking about my parents," she grumbled at him. He kept that brow up and she sat taller in her chair, clearing her throat and attempting to lose the foul attitude she was suddenly having. 'This is not exactly what they thought would be happening to me once I embraced by Zabini title."

"The betrothal?"

She nodded. "Mum doesn't really blame Allegra or Deon for doing what they needed at the time, but Dad seemed pretty determined to find his own group of lawyers to handle this situation."

Automatically, he hated the feeling in the atmosphere. He wasn't one for the apathetic emotions and the hopelessness of others, but that never seemed to stop the Gryffindor Princess from speaking. He knew she could see his hesitation and instant shut-down, the ill-eased body language when she rambled, but for some reason he always let her continue talking. It was almost as if she had this ridiculous notion that he was a good listener—a mistake he constantly made for assuming that he _could _listen at all.

"If he does, let's hope he can break through the binding in those magical contracts. I assure you, there will be plenty of our classmates thrilled not to have to kill their betrothed."

"Wait—there's several marriage contracts within the walls of Hogwarts?"

"Don't feel so special now, do you, Granger?" He leered teasingly, but she didn't look fazed by it. He should've known. She was now fully curious to know who else was damned like she was. "You know why purebloods draw up these betrothals, Granger. Don't look so outraged that there's others."

She frowned at him. "I've never heard any of this sort happen among our classmates before."

"Not everyone finds out about these contracts in their school years," he explained flatly. "And if they do, not everyone feels quite taken with their betrothed. There's quite a lot of embarrassing matches."

"Such as?"

"Parkinson, for instance." For fuck sakes, was he gossiping with the Gryffindor now? Why'd he keep letting her just switch him up, pulling him away from his uncaring, indifferent, comfort zone? "Her parents practically sold her to Crabbe."

Hermione made a face at the new piece of information. "That's disturbing."

"Goyle is betrothed to Millicent Bulstrode," he continued on. "Though, he never was quite upset with that. He fancies her."

"Why? She's a horrid cow."

Malfoy laughed. He never thought he'd hear Granger speak ill about someone. She _was _the voice of tolerance and of acceptance, after all. But then again, all girls could spot out the bitches among their gender. "There's no dispute of that, but she's always been less of a cow to Goyle. Who knows, maybe their parents tapped into something good for them."

The brunette snorted. How could that possibly happen? Their parents took away their right to find someone that fits them, that molds them into someone better. The marriage contracts, in her opinion, were a toss up between catastrophic and fortunate.

"Marcus Flint was betrothed to Tracey Davis. That just shows the flaws in these contracts, does it not? Davis was a First Year when she found out about the betrothal to Flint. It caused a commotion amongst Slytherin for weeks. He was seventeen and she eleven then."

That was definitely repulsive, Hermione agreed, but that hadn't been what caught her attention in Malfoy's comment. "What do you mean Flint _was _betrothed to Davis?"

"The Flints bought out Mister Davis to mutually destroy the contract sometime in her Fifth Year. It was rumoured that the Flints were going into hiding before the war took its toll, and the Davis' didn't want to be associated to Blood Traitors."

"Lucky them," she sighed. He rose an eyebrow at her again. "I meant because they got rid of the contract so easily. Mrs. Nott doesn't want to be bought, she wants this marriage to go through."

Malfoy nodded passively, seeming like he barely heard her.

"Blaise is blessed not to be wrapped in a situation like this," she mumbled tiredly, pressing herself against the back of the chair and slouching down slightly. "His mother wanted to find him an Italian pureblood witch for him to marry. Deon managed to convince Blaise's mother to hold the search until he was seventeen, but seeing as the woman died..."

"He mentioned that once," replied the blonde. "He didn't think he'd get out of it then, no matter how much Deon tried to appeal against it, but he loved to brag that he was at least getting someone we didn't go to school with like the rest of us were."

She had uncrossed her arms, looked back down at the book in front of her, but it was forgotten again when her ears heard his sentence and her brilliant mind processed it. "You...You're betrothed to someone?"

The brunette was looking at him, eyes narrowed in skepticism, in bewilderment, and he didn't know why he also thought they gleamed with panic.

He gave her a solemn nod as an answer.

Her eyelids fluttered for a moment, a humorless puff passing her lips, and then she snapped her book closed. "You never mentioned that you were." Her tone was accusing. She'd been talking about her betrothal to Nott for weeks now—Merlin, he was there when she found out about it—and all this time he couldn't tell her about his? "Who is she?"

He wanted to tell her to mind her own business, but she looked offended for some reason. Not that he should care or that he owed her any explanations of his private life, but did he really want the Bookworm upset with him? For being considered a pacifist throughout their world, she did know how to hold a grudge.

"Astoria Greengrass," his voice was low and blank. She looked confused for a moment, a little sidetracked, but he chose to take the opportunity to quickly explain the situation before her senses came back and she continued talking about things he rather not. "She died in the battle of Hogwarts. It canceled the contract and released me of the obligation."

Hermione swallowed. She had never spoken a word to Astoria Greengrass during their time in school, but she felt great sadness when she saw her crumbled and cold when she assisted the Aurors in collecting the bodies throughout the castle and its grounds.

Hogwarts was a large place with a multitude of students, but everyone knew everyone. Maybe not all by name, but every face was memorized. And the look Astoria Greengrass wore as she laid dead was that of fear and loneliness. It haunted Hermione and it became a flash of a nightmare on bad nights, alike all the faces of the other dead bodies she helped retrieve.

"I, erm...I didn't think the Greengrasses were the type to do that to their daughters," responded the brunette after a long minute. "They seemed like the type that would let their children relish in their dreams."

Draco hid his curiosity when he saw the girl gain a rain cloud over her head. "The Greengrasses sold _both _their daughters for a pureblood descendant. They tied Astoria to me before she was even out the womb, despite me being older than her. Not to mention Daphne had been betrothed to Cedric Diggory before she could walk. They didn't care, they wanted their legacy to keep running."

"Cedric Dig—_What?_" Hermione was appalled. "Greengrass was not betrothed to Cedric!"

"The Diggorys needed the galleons then. Don't think too highly of purebloods outside of Slytherin House, Granger. You'll just disappoint yourself with how much hypocrisy there really is in people you think noble."

She scowled at him. "Don't go there," she warned him. "I'm just simply stating my surprise."

He snorted and left it alone. "If it makes you feel better, Granger, the Greengrasses _have _changed. War did that. After losing their youngest daughter, they're now the cuddling kind with Daphne. Her happiness and well-being became priority."

Hermione groaned loudly as she got up from her chair. She gave Malfoy her back for a moment as she paced one of the many sitting rooms inside Zabini mansion; pacing heavily on the wooden panels. She just couldn't understand how some people could not change after the war. Something that grotesque, that dangerous, that altering had to give people new perspectives about their lives, didn't it? War united people; it made them see the beauty and the absolute about life. Family, love and friendship shone during dark times and it gave hope for a better tomorrow.

How can people not see that? How was peace and equality not a priority?

The reality was that it wasn't just about the fact that marriage contracts existed, that not everyone got spared from one. It simply had to do with the fact that she was done trying to fight for her future.

"Everything will be all right, Granger—" Startling her completely, making a cold shiver run up her spine, Hermione felt a pair of hands settle on her shoulders from behind her. Her skin was suddenly tingly, numb, and rigid. Her chest started heaving slightly, her heart picking up pace than what was normal, and her throat went dry.

She wanted to push him off of her but she was frozen. She didn't know what to do in that second; nor in the one following after when he started turning her so she could face him.

And face him she did.

Their eyes met and she swore the silver in his orbs were that of an undiscovered metal. It was like something she'd never seen—on him or in the world. His pale complexion was still expressionless, fighting to stay aloof, but his eyes were trying to speak to her. They wanted to tell her something right there and then, something that would not be told freely and easily by his lips, and she found she wanted to listen to it with some sort of desperation.

"They're going to find a way out of the betrothal."

That's not what he wanted to say, she knew that. His eyes were still fighting to release the emotion they were being forced and battled with to hide.

"Thank you," she whispered to him. She blinked away from his face for a moment, her eyes discreetly looking at his hands on her shoulders still when she realized that he was incredibly close. He never was, he always kept quite a distance from her if he wasn't saving her life. She hadn't given that much thought before, but she found that she cared now; that she didn't like his proximity.

He smelled of ice and mint, cool like all his being. The problem was that it was an aroma her body was becoming accustomed to and that her silly mind put it in the pile of comfort where she kept Harry's, Ron's, the Grangers, and even Blaise's.

"Thank you for being around, Malfoy. I've...I've enjoyed your company." God, what was she saying? "You've been a good friend to me."

Merlin, she _had _let him in.

The hands on her shoulders slackened. His stormy-colored gaze went from struggling to completely dead. He narrowed his eyes and simply stared at her for what felt like an eternity. She felt embarrassed, ashamed, and like a fool for what she'd said. She knew he didn't want friendship from her; just forgiveness and a truce of civility. Maybe that's why she was fighting the sudden spark—because she knew he'd never want it.

"Forget—"

"I enjoy your company, too." After his interruption, his hands dropped from her shoulders and he proceeded to cross his arms over his chest. His eyes were still blank, hiding again, but there was a smile on his face. It wasn't grand like the few she'd seen on him before, but it was genuine.

Her panic left instantly. "You're surprisingly decent," she confessed, "and much better company than I expected."

"Cheers, Granger. You're not as insufferable as you make it seem."

She laughed lightly, swatting him once on the chest. "You find me charming, Malfoy, and you know it. You would be with Blaise all the time you're here if you didn't think so."

He took a step back from her, adding distance between them, but he got a much better look at her. He was about to reply, content for the easy air around them, but the doors of the sitting room opened and forbade him from retaliating.

The first person he saw was his mother, a smile on her face as she too spotted him, and then Mrs. Zabini. Both came in holding a stack of folders, more floating behind them. He assumed in that moment that it was all work related—his mother assisted Allegra with her fashion investments as leisure on occasions—but then another person walked in after them.

Marching in in all black, pale eyes glowing with judgement, with authority, with arrogance, Hermione felt dread when Regina Nott sneered at her. She stood in the middle of the sitting room, looking tall and proud, like she was the owner of the mansion and ready to take over.

"Come sit with us, Hermione," the woman's cold voice rung throughout the suddenly silent room; sounding ordering. "We've got a wedding to plan."

**X**

Between war, deaths, and changing lives, Hermione found that an entire year had passed in a blur. She couldn't really say it was a great and thriving year, obviously; but one thing she was sure of was that it was an exhausting one. Her body and mind had been stretched to the limit like they were elastic bands with all the catastrophic occurrences that'd happened in that year. She had a moment, just a brief one, where the bands were released and they fell loose of any strain. Of course, that was during the times that she restored the Grangers' memory and flew them back to Britain from Australia.

It was the start of a new year, but Hermione found that someone had picked up the metaphorical bands of her life and began stretching again. Fate was pulling to see how much further she could go from her previous limit, challenging her strength and control. Especially in that precise moment.

"...naturally, respectable press has to be invited."

Sitting tall, narrowed honey-colored eyes attempting to be somewhat polite, Allegra Zabini casually stirred a teaspoon inside her cup after adding a bit of sugar. "I see your concerns, Regina, but I don't think the press needs to be involved at all."

In a creme colored armchair across from the heads of the Zabini family, Mrs. Nott refrained herself from showing any kind of dislike for them that'd been created for their treacherous lies. At one point in life, just a year ago even, she had sat in that same polished, clean, classic beige sitting room of the Zabini mansion and chatted with them like pleasant familiars.

The friendship between the Notts and the Zabinis wasn't one as strongly tied as the one they shared with the Malfoys, but it was good and respected. The Notts could always count on the Zabinis to invest in _Nott Exchange_, the top trading company that existed within the pureblood circles for over eight centuries. Not only had they been top investors, but they were one of their major clients. Mister Zabini was dedicated to many things since his arrival to Britain years ago, and one of those was the export of jewels to his motherland and other countries; and he counted on Nott Exchange to deliver economically and efficiently.

It was from there that their friendship with Regina and Theodore Nott Sr. had sprouted from. The two married couples talked a lot of business, had the occasional amicable dinner, the women went shopping together, and the men partook in the same secret meetings in charged by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Through that, nothing personal was ever shared and none minded. Purebloods were all paranoid and they all kept to themselves; everything was business or discreet friendship. So it'd been a surprise that seven months into Allegra's pregnancy the Zabinis had a prospective betrothal between their unborn daughter and the Nott's unborn son in mind.

Mister and Mrs. Nott had pretended to think over their offer, but of course they would've been fools to not accept. The Zabinis, though not English by roots, were still a powerful and pure legacy that would be the top gem in the Nott family-tree and their Gringotts vault. After a few tweaks and discussions, the betrothal had been created and sealed to tie both Zabini and Nott heirs when they reached the legal age in the Wizardying World.

Of course, the Notts had believed the tragic passing of Aria Zabini and sympathized with the Zabinis for their loss—and the tie_ they'd_ lost as well. Nonetheless, they remained on friendly terms and the Zabinis investments to Nott Exchange had proceeded as usual, even doubled in passing years. Then, of course, rumour of the Dark Lord returning in solid form started spreading like wildfire and those who had claimed to be Imperiused while doing his bidding during the first war were growing fearful and apprehensive. Theodore Sr. included in the shameful throng of followers.

Mrs. Nott's husband started laundering money from the investments and off their clients to provide for their family if they needed to escape from the Dark Lord's wrath. Unfortunately, the imbecile had been caught by Thorfinn Rowle and the fellow Death Eater had reported Theodore Sr.'s betrayal to all the old pureblood families that associated with them. The Zabinis, along with many, had withdrawn all their funds and left the Notts to collect every single sickle and knut they had in order to survive in the ruin they were left in.

"How long do you think your daughter's identity is going to stay among the guests of your Christmas ball?" Mrs. Nott crossed her arms over her chest, disregarding the tea the main house-elf had served her. "It's going to be publicized—her engagement to my son as well. If handled correctly, the media will be as respectful as possible and the wedding can be covered tastefully."

Allegra took a sip from her teacup before answering, needing the leaves of her chamomile to do their calming purpose before she snapped. "Deon and I have discussed the matter of exposure to society with Hermione, and we all know it's unavoidable. As such, we are not fazed by what the media might say. We are now focusing on our daughter's needs, and we do not want her more uncomfortable with this situation if we can help it."

"You can just end this now, Regina." Loyally beside his wife, Deon's emerald gaze was firm and unmoved as they focused on the woman before him. "We're willing to pay any amount you wish as long as you mutually agree to destroy the contract. We just want peace for our family."

Mrs. Nott snapped her fingers at one of the house-elves inside the refined sitting room; silently ordering for it to add two sugarcubes into her tea. "Your construction of a resort in the Isle of Hydra is almost complete, is it not?" She ignored all that Mister Zabini said. "The wedding is not scheduled until they complete their final year at Hogwarts, and, if the resort is finish by then, I'm thinking a wedding in Greece would be delightful."

Deon's visible palm resting on the circular table clutched together into a fist. Anger burned and etched on his face, and it took his wife's settling hand on his shoulder to not pull his wand out and curse Regina Nott to an unrecognizable state.

"The resort is out of the question." For the quiet celebration of the new year, the Malfoys were among the diminutive number of guests in Zabini Estate. "We own half of the construction and I'm afraid I don't want to inconvenience our guests by having a wedding there. For economical purposes, of course."

Mrs. Nott forced a smile at Lucius Malfoy. "The location is not really a matter in the end, is it? As long as your goddaughter and my son get married, Lucius, we can have it in the drawing room of your manor where you watched her get tortured."

Tension and animosity spread throughout the atmosphere in the sitting room that even the two house-elves were itching to get away by the thickness of it. It took a hard squeeze to the shoulder for Allegra to keep Deon on his seat and all of her self control to keep a neutral look on her face. Not to mention that Lucius Malfoy was ready to become a killer once more—hadn't it not been for the fact that his wand had been confiscated by the Ministry and that Narcissa was pinching his leg underneath the table to contain him.

"Let's discuss the matter of the guest-list, shall we?"

As Mrs. Zabini managed to get into a new topic, to try and avoid destruction and Ministry Officials bombarding her home because of the possible uses of the Unforgivables that would be cast on Regina, Hermione cleared her throat from the seat on a long, beige couch she was on with two others.

Benjamin Nott was caught in the middle of her and his brother Theo.

To say that she'd been thoroughly surprised when the Notts Flooed in was not a lie. She hadn't known that Theo had a sibling; he had never been mentioned and never brought up by him or revealed by the Zabinis. But, of course, the Zabinis had known of him and he was the only one in his family Allegra had greeted with a kiss to both cheeks. At first glance the little boy looked frightened, nervous, and quite unhappy. Hermione didn't know how that could not be, especially if Mrs. Nott's cold treatment towards him was anything to go by.

Hermione wagered that Benjamin resembled Theo at the same age of eight. The little boy had the signature dark hair of the Notts, Theo's handsome features, but his mother's staggering pale blue eyes. He shook her hand timidly when they were introduced, and never met her in the eye. When they ate dinner, he kept his gaze focused on his plate, sat tall and proper when Mrs. Nott pulled him by the collar to make him do so, and silently refused a second helping of dessert. And when Allegra had redirected everyone to one of the sitting rooms for tea, the boy has instantly sat in the couch, crossed his arms, and avoided any interaction with anyone. She felt saddened for him, and she could fleetingly see in Theo's eyes that it bothered him too.

"I'm curious to know, what does a wizard child do before going to Hogwarts?" The boy didn't move. "Benjamin?"

Startled, the little boy looked up quickly at the girl calling for him. He looked bewildered and astound that she was speaking to him, that she had a smile on her face for him. "I..." He zipped his lips, turning to his older brother on his other side with wide eyes.

A dim smile stretched a corner of Theo's mouth. He gave him a simple nod and that seemed like all the permission the boy needed before turning back to the girl.

"I go to tutoring," said the boy in the smallest voice imaginable that Hermione had to really concentrate to hear it all. "They teach us basic elements of a few subjects taught in Hogwarts."

Hermione's smiled stretched more at that. "That's great," she replied an excited tone, keeping it modest so the adults could not hear. Especially since she guessed little Benjamin was terrified of his mother and her every rule. "What's your favorite subject?"

The boy looked confused again.

"It's all right, Ben," Theo muttered to his brother. "You can tell her."

Benjamin nodded again, seeming satisfied that he got a reassured permission. It made Hermione feel sad for him all over again. "I like Ancient Runes. The tutor says I show real potential, and if I get better he will talk to the Headmistress to give me advanced classes once I get there."

The brunette refrained from clapping with thrill. The boy was still murmuring like everything that left his lips was a secret and she didn't want to scare him. "I love Ancient Runes," she told him modestly. "My favorite to decipher and study are ancient Celtic runes. They're fascinating."

"Our tutor translated the tale of 'The Fountain of Fair Fortune' into Celtic runes for us to memorize," Benjamin quietly informed Hermione. "I'm already done with it, and now I'm trying to translate another story for the tutor for practice."

"Amazing!" She reached over and placed a gentle hand on his tiny shoulder. "I once translated all of Beedle the Bard's stories into English from their original runes form. It took me awhile, I must confess, so I compliment you greatly for your feat, Benjamin."

A glittering smile appeared on the boy's face and Hermione could see that was something he'd also gotten from his brother. It was quite charming. "Thank you, Miss Hermione."

"Call me Hermione," she corrected him. "Or 'Mione, if you want. My friends call me that. I don't particularly like it, but you're a special boy, Benjamin. And we're friends now, aren't we?"

His smile deflated and he turned back to his brother. "...Can I, Theo?"

The Slytherin glanced away from his little brother to look at Hermione. There was no charming grin of his own on his face, no lines of the friendly person he was to her all the time, but his dark eyes were gleaming with an emotion Hermione knew was gratitude. It didn't take more than that to know that Benjamin meant the world to Theo and that he worried for the boy's happiness as much as he wanted the boy to have it.

"Of course you can, Ben," the Slytherin answered his brother's plea, looking back down at him, black and blue eyes meeting. "You'd be a fool not to be Hermione's friend."

Benjamin grinned happily at his brother then turned back to the girl on his left. "I'd like that, 'Mione."

She returned his whispered enthusiasm. "You know, Benjamin, I always give my friends gifts. So, in order to make this friendship official, I will bring you this story called 'Aladdin' that I translated into Arabic runes. How would you like that? It's unlike any story you've ever come across, I'm sure you'll love it."

It took another permission from Theo for the boy to agree to take it, but Hermione got a nod from him and she stood from the couch. She was about to head to the doors after handing her teacup back to Button the house-elf when she was stopped by the terrifying witch in the room.

"Heading somewhere, sweetheart?"

Hermione wanted to respond with a colorful 'stuff it' that she always heard Ron grunt about, but she remembered that she had to be polite to Mrs. Nott because above all, for some damn reason, the Zabinis expected it. "Just going to the loo, Mrs. Nott. May I do so?"

Deon and the Malfoys smirked at her haughty and sarcastic tone, but Mrs. Nott pretended not to have noticed it. "Well, do so quickly. We're going to need your input on the invitation list."

She bowed at the woman, thought several strings of curse words in her head, and then headed out of the sitting room with loud, aggravated footsteps.

Hermione was quite upset at not being able to attend the Weasleys New Year's celebration at the Burrow to instead have to sit through Mrs. Nott's disgusting personality, all because Allegra thought that a dinner between them, the Notts and the Malfoys was a good way to spend the holiday. She would've complained and demanded to be let out, but she couldn't help but still be very grateful that Mrs. Zabini had invited her muggle-parents to the Christmas Ball they held.

There was just something about Mrs. Nott that she didn't like. Obviously part of her dislike for the woman was because she refused to let the betrothal dissolve, but it was also this _sense _about her that was just totally rotten. It was like that coldness she radiated out was the same on the inside; like she held no warmth on her skin or inside her blood vessels. And she figured that the best thing about her was what she had produced: Theo and Benjamin.

A smile appeared on her face as she thought about Theo. Even though she didn't want to marry him, she couldn't help but to see the nice person he was. He was friendly from the moment he uninvitedly took a seat in her library table months ago, requesting for a chance of new beginnings, and even to the moment the truth of their marriage contract came to light...

Her thoughts would've progressed to how supportive he'd been since all this mess, never pushing and never talking about the impending wedding between them, when she was about to head up a flight of stairs when she found that the last door of the empty hall was open and the light was on.

Curiosity being a paradox flaw of hers, Hermione sighed as she turned from the first step of the staircase and headed down to the last room in the hall. She'd never been in there before, simply because she stuck to her or Blaise's headquarters, but as soon as she passed through the door she added the room to one of the many offices in the mansion.

She looked absentmindedly around the room and found it empty. She had taken out her wand to extinguish the light being expelled from the crystallized lamp on the office's desk, but she then found that two doors inside the office were opened and the outside was exposed.

It didn't take a single second of thought to convince her to head over there. And once she stepped through the doors that led to a patio facing a part of the gardens of the Zabini mansion, she found a blonde boy looking up at the glittering moon.

"Malfoy," she said the blonde's name as she approached the garden table he was seated in. She pulled out the chair next to him, raising a brow as he looked up as she did so. "Why are you out here? I reckoned you and Blaise were starting on that festive, heavy drinking."

He didn't reply in the next passing second. Malfoy's eyes just looked at her face, dancing around her features, from her eyes to her nose to her chin. And as he did so, she could see the haze fogging his vision.

"Oh," she huffed. "I see you already dabbled."

He cleared his throat, looking back towards the expanding garden from his chair. "I had a few drinks, Granger, but not enough to have me passed out on the floor like your brother currently is." She huffed again, and just by the tone of the air leaving her mouth he knew she was about to start a lecture. He wasn't in the mood to hear it so he interjected before the first nagging word came out. "Not that I didn't want to, but I figured...I figured you might need at least one coherent person to talk to after the Notts leave."

Questioning took over her features, she knew, but he wasn't focused on her to notice it. "Really?"

He shrugged.

"Dealing with Theo and Benjamin is just fine," informed the brunette to the blonde boy like it was imperative that she did so. "Mrs. Nott is the one that's impossible. She continuously orders everyone and acts like her word is law. It's awful, Malfoy. If I can't get out of this..."

"That's your future." After completing her thought, he turned back around and focused on her. "Zabini told me she propositioned that you live at the Notts after the wedding."

Hermione nodded sadly. She crossed her arms and pressed her back against the chair, slouching as she caught one of Blaise's dogs drinking out of a rippling pond a little ahead from where they sat. "Allegra laughed in Mrs. Nott's face, but something tells me pureblood laws don't tend to favor the women, right? In the end, I'll go wherever Theo goes."

This time, she wasn't looking at him. And because she wasn't, she missed the flicker of displeasure in his gaze. That thought, the thought of _Hermione Granger_ following after someone by force was a disturbing one. When had it ever been heard that the Brightest Witch of the Age was easily contained and influenced? She was the force, for Salazar's sake; she was free as the wind and that's just the way life worked.

"_'I am no bird; and no net ensnares me'_," whispered Malfoy into the silent night, half driven into doing so by the liquor in his blood. "_'I am a free human being with an independent will.'_"

As the dog wandered off from the pond, Hermione's attention caught the soft words being spoken by the boy next to her. She turned, a knot in her throat, a sentiment in her chest, and, for some unexplainable and uncontrolled reason, her eyes watered.

"That's what you are, isn't it?" He let the quote of Charlotte Brontë's _Jane Eyre_ echo around them until it died before speaking once more. "You don't get caught, Granger. You don't go down without a fight. You don't fight without winning."

Her front teeth sunk into her bottom lip to keep her from crying. She didn't say anything immediately, but rolled and dissected his words in her mind. He was waiting for her to win this battle, expecting her to fight and kick and scream until she came out the victor.

"...You think that I can?"

"I know so," he responded soon after her muttered question. "These things don't happen to you, Granger. And...And if anyone gets to have the perfect ending, it's _you_. Love and happiness, or whatever rubbish you dream about."

She swallowed the sob that begged to be let out, that sob that agreed with him. "Don't you deserve that too, Malfoy?" She was whispering, letting the night's wind be the loudest thing between them. "Don't you deserve what you dream about, too?"

The hands on his lap tightened to fists. "I don't dream."

It sounded like it was the truth, like he believed that irrevocably, but she _knew _it was a lie. She'd once invaded his mind when he slept. He did dream—and he dreamt of her.

Impulses were not her forte; in fact, she lacked them. People like Hermione didn't do things by impulse. Research and careful reasoning first took place before she decided to go left or right; all variables accounted for. So when she locked eyes with Malfoy, his gaze silver and illuminating like the moon above them, captivating her completely, she was surprised that impulse made her lean forward.

He wasn't understanding the thoughts, the emotions, his body and mind were creating; all he knew was that her brown eyes were especially bright and so damn enthralling, inviting and warm that he lost himself for the tiniest moment. Everything about her screamed new beginnings and absolution, and he wanted it. He _needed _it. So when she leaned in the first millimeter to him, he immediately copied the action and met her in the middle.

Their lips met and it wasn't the cliche of first kisses. There was no shyness, no hesitance, no moment of waiting to test the waters. Their lips met and it was simplified into rawness. It wasn't a rawness of adulterated passion, but a rawness of bared emotions that was underlined by vulnerability and a desperation for freedom and life.

As their mouths moved like they were familiars, like they shared thousands of kisses under the moonlight for centuries, his right hand gripped the back of her neck while his other reached for the armrest of her chair; pulling her closer to him. His heart was thumping wildly inside his chest, all the blood vessels and all the cells in his body fluttering into motion. Kissing her—kissing Granger—felt like he was shedding his old self from the inside out.

Her hands were shaking with the explosion that somehow had taken over the night sky. They were trembling and she couldn't think of anything to do with them than to place them on both sides of his face, holding him with eagerness. Her lips kept moving with his, tasting mint on his tongue, and she kept expecting for the reasonable side of her mind to start shouting that what she was doing was wrong, sinful, unlike her, but it never came. And if the sensation of pleasant electrical currents kick-starting her heart into overdrive was anything to go by, she'd tell that reasonable side to stuff it.

Slytherin and Gryffindor kissed like they were each others' lifelines. They clung to each other desperately, like they hadn't realized that what the other had, what the other's lips tasted like was something they'd been missing all their lives.

They were six seconds away from separating their mouths to catch some needed air, but those six seconds of snogging like they had just found each other was interrupted by their chairs sliding away from each other in rough jerks.

Startled, in unison, Draco and Hermione turned to where the magic came from. And there, by the doors of the office, was Regina Nott with the foulest look on her face to consider her the wicked witch of all those fairytales Hermione had read as a child.

"Well," the woman raised a palm, keeping the two teenagers stuck to their seats by a nonverbal she was casting, "it seems like we have a problem."


	16. The Fall

**Lover of the Light**

**Chapter Fifteen: **The Fall**  
**

He was fucked.

Not only had he been a continuous destructive force, not only was he losing his mind, but he had gone and let her in. _Her_, out of all bloody people.

And that just wasn't the problem—Merlin, if only that'd been it. No. The problem was also that she willingly _let _herself be dragged into his life. It was like she was waiting for it. It was like she saw him withering; losing himself, losing his sanity, losing his time and anything else that mattered and was vital for him. It was like she was waiting for the perfect moment until he hit and spiraled completely down into rock bottom in order to be his only source of light in the obscure hole. He didn't understand why that was, why she wanted to be a part of his messed up life, he just knew that she was.

_'Why are you here?'_

_ 'I...I don't know.'_

How was it that he even started looking for her willingly? He'd spent weeks trying to avoid her and that piercing gaze. He couldn't escape it. He hadn't wanted it, but yet it always found him and he found that he couldn't look away. Why the hell was that?

He should've put a stop to it early in its roots. He had the power to do so, she hadn't yet bewitched him then, but that was also a part of the problem, wasn't it? He didn't stop her. He let her become a part of his day little by little, centimeter by centimeter, minute by minute. And no one knew. No one knew that she snuck in; making it harder to fight her off.

_'I...erm...I'll just go—'_

_ 'No!'_

Maybe a part of him didn't mind.

There was something about her. There was something about the feel of her that made him feel like he was being understood. It was like his crazy sensed her crazy. He hadn't been scouting for anyone with the same problems, he stuck to himself and his shades of grief and sorrow, but there she was, appearing out of nowhere, always uninvited, and she was just as filled with as much sorrow as he was. She matched him in scars, pain, and fallen tears.

She'd just been better at hiding it.

_'Just...Just stay. Don't go.'_

_ '...Why?'_

_ 'I'm scared.'_

He didn't know how someone with her kind of pain could keep up a perfect facade in front of the world. She was sneers, indifference, and teasing laughter on a daily basis that one just assumed that even through a war she didn't lose the bitchy-side of her personality. She managed to keep her head held up high, fighting away any rumours that anything was wrong with her life. She was the master of disguise, of faked expressions and false statements.

Let it be known that he admired that. And that was more of a surprise than her actually succeeding in hiding all those fears she carried over her shoulders like an invisible weight. After all, no one does lying and scheming better than a Slytherin.

_'What can _you _possibly be scared of?'_

_ 'This house.'_

_ 'This house?'_

_ 'And its silence.'_

She was fucked.

She was fucked but she wasn't as bothered by that fact like he was. Like he established to himself already, it was like she was waiting for him. It was like she thrived on how insane he'd gotten, how much he yelled, how much he kicked, and how much he lost control. Her eyes would just glitter when she saw him; he always saw it and she never tried to hide it when she thought he needed to see it.

His pain was a link. He didn't know how it was therapeutic for her, just that it was. She wasn't all for trying to cure him or trying to calm his rages. She wanted him to let them out, she wanted him to scream at the top of his lungs, punch with all his strength, and hate with all the blood inside of his body. And the more he did so, the more her eyes sparkled and the more she looked triumphant.

Strangely, that helped him. He was becoming better. He was feeling better, smiling truthfully, laughing from deep in his chest, making jokes, being mocking, hanging with the blokes, slinging his arm around Ginny's shoulder, shoving Harry playfully—she did all that. She was making him better.

_'Fine. I'll stay.'_

_ '...Promise?'_

_ 'Yeah...I'll stay until you need me to.'_

'_Do you mean that?'_

'_I think so...'_

Her, him—they were both equally as fucked.

He hadn't wanted to let her in, but he did so anyway. She appeared to want to let him in, and she exposed her most vulnerable side to him. They both bared their souls, their anger, their grief, and their insanity. He let her make him better by default and she told him a secret that she really should've kept to herself.

Both cared now. Both cared and they were fucked because neither of them knew exactly how much they cared for one another. And that was to be feared. That was to be extremely feared by two people that shouldn't care for each other, by two people that were polar opposites, and by people who had history to walk away from people.

_Ehem._

The string of equations in his book weren't making sense, hadn't for a while now, so he decided to look up at the person who had intruded on his thoughts and poor studying skills by a clearing of their throat.

Blue eyes found blue eyes.

Fuck him, indeed.

"What?"

She frowned at his grunt. "You weren't at breakfast today."

He narrowed his eyes, trying his hardest to mimic that indifference that came so easily to her. For Godric's sake, he just wanted to push her away. He just wanted her gone. Was that too bloody much to ask for? "I don't owe you explanations of my whereabouts."

She smirked that taunting smirk. Her eyes, for a millisecond, looked thoroughly annoyed, offended, upset—but then they were as neutral as the water in a pool. "I'm not interest in your whereabouts, Weasley." She outstretched a white hand to him. "My mail, if you please."

Right. This was the reason why he didn't try to pretend like he was the master of aloofness when he knew perfectly well that he could never keep his poker-face on. He always ended up making a fool of himself, he should've seen that coming.

He cleared his throat, turning to his open schoolbag on the chair next to him. He reached in, shoved aside crumpled papers—all possibly notes, homework and that essay he needed to turn in tomorrow—until he found a neat stack of correspondence. Seeing as he got thoroughly embarrassed, he chucked the mail on the surface of his library table with a lack of tact.

"There you are," grunted Ron without bothering to look up at the witch before him. He instead pretended like he got the Arithmancy homework and started scribbling lines of numbers in no particular order on his parchment.

One, two, three seconds.

"It's just another month's worth of subscriptions."

One, two, three seconds.

Ron cursed in his head and glanced up again. That pale face, those blue eyes pretended not to be feeling anything, but her interior was surely peeling and slicing itself up all over again with the fear that was secretly constant in her. He wanted to tell her to shove off, but frankly, he mind as well just accept the fact that he's completely screwed and stop wasting time pretending that he wasn't.

He didn't say anything, just kept his gaze on her until she finally met it. She was expressionless as a mop, but by the clear look on his face, she took a seat right across from him. She sat tall, rigid, but her hand crumbled the constant _Daily Prophet, Witch Weekly_, other fashion magazines, and rubbish mailings of promotional discounts.

They never mentioned the unmentionable. They pretended like their mutual secret had never happened, like they hadn't shared something, and both were just fine with that. She wasn't one for weak emotions and he wasn't one for accepting the fact that he actually shared something with _her _at all. He was Ron Weasley and she was Pansy Parkinson—nothing happened.

Sometimes, however...Sometimes it was hard not to use the fact that something indeed linked them. Sometimes they just needed the reassurance. And sometimes they allowed themselves to obtain that from one another with a long stare across the Great Hall, fleeting smiles in passing halls, or sitting together in classes while pretending there were no more available seats elsewhere.

But he was already staring at her, already sitting with her, and she still did not look reassured. He wasn't about to console her with words, how could he? Ron Weasley wasn't known to be eloquent with words, to ease his friends' pain with correct phrases—especially when Parkinson wasn't even his friend at all. How could he make things better, say the right thing, when he just began to acknowledge her as something more than Pug-Face Parkinson?

She was about to stand from the chair, but he stopped her. He stopped her by reaching across the table and placing his hand over hers. He was hesitant, frozen for a second, but then his fingers dipped beneath her palm and grasped her hand.

His hand was sweaty, he knew, and her hand was cold as ice. Typical, isn't it? He low class, mundane, and she unfeeling, cold like her galleons.

She clutched back. It wasn't timid or hesitant. She grasped his hand like if it were a lifeline; like his hold on her was what was keeping her at bay and not at the bottom of a treacherous ocean.

"—Look who we found!"

Ripping their fingers away from each other, losing the feel of stranger skin, Ron and Pansy were joined at his library table by his fellow Gryffindors. Harry and Ginny were grinning, their own hands clasped, giving that couple-y glow, while a brunette stood gloomily beside them.

"She was in her dormitory all this time, but luckily Parvati sold her out and we managed to drag her out."

Potter and the She-Weasel acted like they didn't see her—or maybe they did and just didn't care about her presence—and Pansy found that their acceptance or rejection didn't matter. What mattered to her in that moment was the inspecting gaze on the brunette's face and it roaming all over her and Weasley.

"Brilliant," breathed Ron after his sister's comments. "Well, sit down, then. Let's have a chat."

Nonchalant as always, Parkinson stood from the chair across from Ron and avoided eye-contact with him. Not that they needed any; what needed to be reassured had been reassured. Though, they both had to admit, that a new question arose from his little gesture and her clinginess.

Before the Slytherin witch turned fully around, Hermione daggered her eyes into her blue ones and searched, searched, searched. There was something, she knew it, she wouldn't be the Brightest Witch of her Age if she didn't see it. And as Parkinson fled quickly, forgetting to walk with any kind of poise, she gave herself away. Something _had _happened between her and Ron.

"Oh, come on!" Clearly not seeing the same thing she had, Ginny stepped away from her on-again boyfriend's side and tugged the brunette down to one of the empty chairs in her brother's table.

Hermione fell into the seat with a grunt. "Come on, what? I don't know what any of you are on about."

Ginny snorted loudly as she sat on Harry's lap from the lack of chairs available in the three-seat table. "You've been a downright wench these two weeks back at Hogwarts! Last time we checked, we left you perfectly fine with the Zabinis. You even got to see the Grangers! You were over the moon, 'Mione."

"I'm getting _married_, Ginny," quipped the brunette in an annoyed fashion. "There's nothing to be overjoyed about."

Knowing both girls' terrible, irritable temper, Ron decided to add his two sickles in before he and Harry witnessed a witch fight. "We're aware about that foul matter, Hermione. But it's more than that, isn't it?"

"We _know _you," Harry added in.

Hermione shoved both hands into her curls, her fingers clutching onto the roots. She bowed her head, looking away from her best friends for a moment, trying to just find _something _to calm herself with. But there was nothing, was there? Everything in her life was topsy-turvy. Merlin, nothing was right—nothing.

How'd she get to this point? How did her life become so bloody unstable? As Ron would say, she really did need to sort out her priorities. And quick.

"Mrs. Nott is a monster," she said through clenched teeth, still not looking up or untangling her fingers from her curls. "Deon and Allegra are prepared to hand her a small fortune so the betrothal can be terminated, but she refuses. She wants this wedding to happen. Not just that, she's a complete dictator and my future looks under her control at this rate."

All three Gryffindors stared sympathetically at her friend.

"Hermione, don't let that woman—"

"And I properly snogged the lights out of Malfoy."

That had stopped whatever Ginny was about to say, making her cough wildly.

One, two, three, four, five seconds later of thick silence with a bewildered tension, Hermione picked up her head once more and stared her friends. Harry looked thoroughly disgusted, slightly surprised that she said what she had; Ginny was trying to keep her surprise, but the redhead was tightening her lips to stop herself from laughing; and Ron...she wasn't expecting the emotions crossing his freckled features.

"Not only am I so _confused _as to why I kissed Malfoy, why he kissed me back, or why I fancied it, but Regina Nott caught us mid snog," Hermione further explained. "I thought she was going to hex Malfoy and I, but she simply stated that we were not _allowed _to see each other anymore for the rest of the holiday. Which was just fine with me at that mortifying moment, but Mrs. Nott wasn't finished. Theo was informed of my...indiscretion."

"Blimey," mumbled Harry.

Hermione nodded in understanding.

However, being the only ones not grasping the situation the way her or Harry were, the Weasley siblings decided to be completely unsympathetic to the situation. First, Ginny let go and started laughing; throwing her palms onto the surface of the table and leaning into it as her shoulders shook with her chuckles.

"You—snog—Malfoy!" She didn't bother to lower her voice as she lost her senses to her intense giggle-fit. Hermione frowned at her intently, but that didn't stir the redhead at all.

Her brother, on the other hand, wasn't laughing at all. In fact, Ron was showing quite the opposite emotions that his sister was. Instead of roaring with laughter or with anger, Hermione's best friend had a _nothing _expression. It wasn't Ron at all. There was no infuriated scowl, no angry flush on his cheeks, and no raging color turning his ears red. He simply looked at her with something she really hoped wasn't pity. She couldn't take pity from anyone at that point.

"So, you fancy Malfoy now?"

Ginny stopped laughing at her brother's question. Hermione and Harry exchanged a bewildered expression before the brunette turned to meet Ron's blue eyes. "I don't know."

"Why did you snog him, then?"

"I don't know."

"There's must be a reason."

Hermione was tempted to shove her fingers back into her hair and start pulling it all out with all the frustration inside her body building up. "There's just something about him," whispered the brunette as a hesitant response. "He's a git, of course he is, but...He's not. And even though I don't forget all the horrible things he's done, when we're together...when we talk, I don't see that Malfoy anymore. There's just something."

Harry looked more puzzled than ever before. His girlfriend, however, was nodding her head slowly; signaling to the brunette that she understood perfectly well what she'd meant.

Not really grasping the girl language entirely, Ron decided to just take the plunge and answer with what he thought it all meant. "Whatever it means, 'Mione, you know that—"

_Ehem._

Not able to finish what he thought was going to be his very first good piece of advice, Ron and the other Gryffindors looked up to find the intruder of their moment. It was Theodore Nott.

"Hermione," he said in a flat voice, only looking at her, "mind if we talk?"

No. Absolutely not. There was no way in Merlin's green earth that Hermione wanted to speak to Theodore Nott. She'd been avoiding him for days now with obvious reason. And just because Harry and Ginny had managed to drag her out of her safe-haven, it didn't mean that she was going to—

"Sure," she answered silently.

The tension gone from bewildered to awkward, the three Gryffindors stood from the table, ready to depart. Before they did so, all three individually sent her a sympathizing smile. Ron squeezed her shoulder as he quickly gathered his belongings.

Nott took a seat and was not keen to postpone what was coming with small talk. "You can't avoid me forever."

"I can try," muttered the girl offhandedly, looking at the tabletop and a paper ball her friend had left behind.

The Slytherin sighed tiredly, not trying for once to be charming with her. She couldn't see it because she was being a coward, ashamed and all, but everything about him screamed exhaustion. He had shadows under his eyes, almost purple, and his dark eyes were bloodshot from the lack of sleep. His shoulders were tensed, jaw clenched, and palms into fists.

"Quit being so dramatic," he snapped at her, clearly out of patience. "So you snogged Malfoy; big fucking deal, Hermione."

Not even at his tactless, rude, and aggravated sentence did she look up. She kept her gaze off of his face, shoulders slouching, an echo of a grimace on her face. She honestly felt terrible; and, yes, even ashamed.

"That doesn't give you any motive to avoid me," continued Nott. "Though, what else did I expect from you? You are the Gryffindor Goody-Two-Shoes. I wouldn't doubt it for a second that you were, at a point, going to write me a foot-long parchment asking for forgiveness. But, Hermione—_Look at me, Hermione_!"

She cringed, but she slowly looked up. She'd be upset by his comment towards her loyal characteristic, but she knew he was completely right. She felt horrid for somehow betraying what lousy excuse of an engagement they had.

Noticing her sadness, Theo sighed again. It wasn't as tired as his previous one, but it was much more resigned. "I don't care," he murmured in a gentle voice just for her. "I don't care that you and Malfoy snogged. It doesn't matter."

"Your mother—"

"It matters to her, not to me," he interrupted her. "And...Bloody fuck, Hermione, it's just more complicated than a kiss, okay? I don't care, so stop feeling like you cheated on me. We're betrothed, not mutually, happily joined." He ran a hand into his hair, looking just as frustrated as she felt.

She hadn't wanted to so much as get a glimpse of the back of his head in the past two weeks, but Hermione found that at the particular moment she couldn't take her eyes off Theo. He'd lost some of his color, his glittering charm was gone, his back hunched over with the weight of his own thoughts and emotions, and those dark eyes were glistening. He was breaking. The tears welling in his sockets were proof of that.

Hermione scooted her chair closer to his, automatically taking one of his hands into hers. Her shame and embarrassment was long gone. She was worried, because no Slytherin ever broke down in front of a Gryffindor, because despite of the betrothal, Hermione liked to believe her and Nott were friends. And adding to the worry, she understood the tears and the pain he was letting her see.

"Theo," her voice was barely audible, "what is it?"

He didn't answer immediately. He at first sunk his top teeth to his bottom lip, hiding the quiver, but the hand she was holding clutched onto her fingers tightly. His shoulders shook a little, indicating a silent sob or one that was fighting to get out.

She didn't know why, but Hermione felt her heart break for him.

"I need to tell you something." His voice had been hoarse, and he locked his broken black eyes into her brown ones. He really was fighting hard to keep his tears from falling. "And when I do...Hermione, you have to promise me something."

Fear crawled coldly up her spine. "Okay."

A fragment of a tear managed to find its way out of his left tear-duct. It wasn't because of the chaotic tornado inside of him, but because of how naive she was. Comical, wasn't it? Brightest Witch of the Age: foolish. But he supposed that's what made her loveable in some ways. That, and her fierce loyalty and unnerving good heart.

"After I tell you what I need to," he was a little more composed for her, "you need to promise me that you're going to see this betrothal to the end."

**X**

Two weeks and three nights.

Two bloody weeks and three bloody—scratch that; his watch read 12:07 am.

Two bloody weeks and _four _bloody nights.

That's how long it'd been since he last saw her. On the first two minutes of the first night, he hadn't minded it all. He'd been eager to not have her around, fast to escape, unwavering to leave his bedroom in Malfoy Manor when his parents insisted that he join them at Zabini Estate a night after the incident. He hadn't cared at all then because he was Draco Malfoy, and Draco Malfoy was good at dodging all emotions. It was his forte, what made him the proud sod he was. So when the first night turned into another, then that turned to another—he'd been perfectly fine not talking to her...

It made him a bloody coward actually, didn't it? When Mrs. Nott had ordered him to piss off from the patio after she caught him and her kiss—he just fled easily, okay. That's who he was. He ran fast when trouble came and never looked back to see if he'd lost a comrade. That's why he didn't bother to even give the Gryffindor Princess a second glance, so he didn't have to face the reality of what she must've been feeling then and there.

Bullocks. What had she even felt? What was she feeling _now_?

Bullocks again. It wasn't like he was going to find the answer to that anytime soon. It'd been two weeks and four nights since he last spoke with her, and he was sure after the third night back in school that she was avoiding him just as much as he was avoiding her.

Ironic, was it not? Both were complete cowards.

He didn't know exactly why he wanted to know how she felt. What happened didn't have to be mentioned, nothing had to be said, and he could easily continue ignoring her like he'd done at a point in his life...

What a load of rubbish. When had he ever been able to ignore her?

"Sulking about again, are you, Malfoy?"

Glancing up to the sound of the intrusive voice, Draco found Zabini walking through the entrance of the common room, the bricks weaving together behind him to hide the Slytherin lair. He had his robes hanging over his forearm, tie loosened, white button-up messily buttoned, and his trousers wrinkled—yet, he was smirking like he was wearing the best dragon-skin.

"Whoring about again, are you, Zabini?"

His smirk grew, white teeth glittering and contrasting with the dimness of the common room; Blaise laughed with great glee. "Ravenclaw tonight, mate," he said casually, heading his way towards the armchairs around the fireplace where the blonde sat by himself.

"No Hufflepuff?"

"Don't insult my tastes," retaliated Blaise in a carefree manner as he threw his school-robes on an empty table. "No, Malfoy, tonight was Cho Chang."

Draco raised a blonde brow. "_Chang_?" That was the least bit believable. "Chang doesn't put-out, Zabini. She's too busy crying at every bloody corner to give a bloke a second glance."

"Tried, have you?" Blaise laughed some more, throwing his legs up on the couch he had all to himself. "Well, mate, let me tell you that no one resists the Zabini charm. That doesn't mean that she wasn't a miserable cow the first few hours, but eventually she eased up and I put a lovely smile on her face."

The blonde looked unimpressed.

"Just because you don't get snogged anymore," snorted Blaise at his classmate's lack of appreciation of the fun night he just had. "When was the last time you actually had a girlfriend, Malfoy? Or even some lass to frolic around with? Maybe you should give Parkinson a try again. She's become a little more tolerable since Fourth Year."

Draco didn't say anything in return. Instead, he raised the cloak that was over his lap to pull out one of the small bottles of Firewhiskey he managed to sneak into the castle at the start of term. He wasn't about to get into any romantic or sex-related conversations with Zabini. Knowing the git well enough, however, he knew he was about to hear Blaise ramble on about the subjects anyway. Hence why the alcohol was required.

With a nonverbal, Blaise summoned the bottle to him. "Fine, it doesn't have to be Parkinson. How about Romilda Vane? She's a bit younger than us, but she'll work," he said, unstopping the bottle and making the Slytherin Prince glare at him. "I'm just saying, Malfoy. Every bloke needs a witch, someone to snog once in awhile." He stopped for a moment, taking a swing from the small bottle until the golden liquid hit the right spot inside of him. "And since you haven't snogged anyone—Oh, no, wait! _You snogged my sister_!"

Malfoy saw the bottle flying towards him before Blaise even decided to chuck it. Despite never being able to win Wonder Boy Potter at Quidditch, Draco still considered himself a great Seeker with his own share of skills. And because of those, he managed to catch the bottle of liquor before it smacked against his face and broke over his nose.

He didn't meet Zabini's eyes for the moment being. Instead, Draco put his mouth on the opening of the bottle and swung it back. The liquor burned down his throat, leaving a hot trail down its course, but he didn't flinch until it was all gone.

"Who told you?" He asked after a minute of letting his body settle the alcohol tainting his blood now.

Zabini's emerald gaze was narrowed and not resembling that smug prat that he'd become in the past year. He was currently a shiny reflection of that serious, angered, judging Slytherin boy that didn't think the floor underneath his feet was worthy to be there. "That doesn't matter, you tosser," he snapped. "Why the hell didn't you tell me you kissed my sister?"

Fuck him. He had only brought down one of the bottles from his dormitory because he thought he'd have a lonely common room to mull over those blasted thoughts that hadn't left him alone for the past two weeks. He wasn't drunk enough for this.

"What the hell do you think you're playing at, Malfoy?" If he'd allegedly just gotten off with Chang, Draco was having a hard time understanding why Zabini wasn't glittering with the satisfying afterglow and currently taking a nap to recharge his batteries. "Did you think that my sister's just some loose wench you can snog whenever you bloody want to just because she's there?"

Seriously, he wasn't drunk enough for this.

"I forgave you once for hurting her, you twat, but don't think for a second I'm going to let you make her your play-thing just so you can get—"

"I wouldn't do that to her!" He _really _needed more alcohol. The few ounces he previously took sizzled and magically left his system when his blood started bubbling with anger.

In his slur of accusing comments, Blaise had stood from the couch to be tall and intimidating, but at the blonde's comment, he lowered himself back to his seat. "Is that so?"

Unlike himself, Malfoy groaned loudly. "It's complicated," he said through gritted teeth. How the hell was he supposed to start explaining something to Zabini if _he _didn't know himself what any of it was about? He hadn't allowed himself to go that far into why the incident had occurred at all, and now he had to go there with Zabini?

It just wasn't his day at all.

Scratch that—nothing had been the same for two weeks and four nights now. And he knew perfectly well that it was all Granger's fault. She sunk her essence into him and shook everything out of its place.

"He fancies her—" Seeing as Malfoy was not destined to have the Slytherin common room all to himself, someone else entered it after descending from one of the gloomy hallways that led into the dormitories. "He fancies her quite a lot, actually."

If there ever was a moment in his lifetime when he was happy to see Pansy Parkinson, it was at that precise second. He was thoroughly annoyed that she appeared, of course, but what she was holding in her hands excused her for a moment from his anger.

Clearing her throat as her fellow Slytherins narrowed their gazes at her, Pansy walked a little closer to Malfoy's direction and handed him the bottle of Rum she had in her hold.

Blaise was not letting this go. Not even as Draco hurriedly ripped the cap off the bottle and drank from it in a haste. "Is that so, Malfoy? Do you fancy my sister?"

At the mock in the dark-skinned boy's comment, Pansy rolled her eyes. "Of course he does."

"I don't—"

"You do," Pansy insisted, looking down at Malfoy's silver eyes. "Don't look so appalled, Draco; you know I'm telling the truth. _You _know it's true. You're just not willing to admit it to yourself yet."

Draco glared at her, clutching the neck of her Rum bottle tightly. "I don't like the Bookworm, Parkinson. You out of all bloody people don't know anything, so piss off."

"So you just snogged my sister for the hell of it?"

At Zabini's interjection, Draco shook his head and went back into taking another large gulp of the alcohol in his possession. "I didn't mean that either—"

"Then what did you mean? Because what I got was that you don't like my sister, yet you went about kissing her like you could."

"Of course he kissed her like he could. He likes her. And when have we ever known Malfoy to not try and get what he wants?"

"My sister isn't a thing to be won, Parkinson."

"In this case she is, Blaise. It's Malfoy versus Malfoy to see whether or not he's up to kissing her again. Maybe to get something _more _than that."

"More than—You want more from my sister, you slimy git? You're not going anywhere near Hermione!"

"Jealous, Zabini? My, who knew you had the protective gene in you?"

"Piss off, Parkinson. This is my sister. I'm not going to let Malfoy ruin her—"

"_For fuck sakes_!" Not being able to handle the back and forth toss of words between Zabini and Parkinson, Draco finally snapped. He stood from his armchair, glowering with all his might. "I'm not trying to do anything! I don't even know what the hell's going on!"

Blaise and Pansy zipped their lips and watched as the Slytherin Prince turned pink from the alcohol and his frustration.

"Blame your sister, not me." Draco turned his hardened gaze at Zabini for the moment. "She came into my life and just messed everything up. I didn't ask for anything, I didn't want her friendship or—she's just in my head all the time! That's her doing, not mine!"

"Her doing?" Blaise snorted. "_You_ were constantly in her bedroom looking to be chummy with her. Or are you telling me that she forced you to sit with her to read books, take strolls through the gardens, or talk for hours when I insisted on a game of Quidditch when you were over?"

The blonde swallowed roughly.

As silence grew thick like webs between the three Slytherins, especially tangling around Malfoy and his frazzled silver eyes, another Slytherin made his way into the common room. He'd been hearing the conversation by the entrance of the room, undetected by the others as he hid in the shadows after he snuck his way in. He had considered just to cast a quick Disillusionment Charm to make it to his dormitory without dealing with them, but what he heard was interesting. Not just interesting, though—_vital_.

Clearing his throat, Theodore Nott made himself visible to his classmates and once friends. An automatic, loathing expression took up Zabini's expression, Parkinson looked annoyed, not exactly at Nott, but at the situation, and the blonde clenched his jaw at the sight of him.

"I keep expecting for you to not show up anymore, but here you are." Blaise curled his lip in disgust. "Reminding me that filth is filth and you're never going to go away on your own."

Huffing, Pansy marched over to Blaise and grasped one of his arms; lifting him up from his seat. "Let's go, Zabini. We're done for the night."

Zabini growled, but let himself be taken and directed to the halls by the witch. "Why are you not in your sleep-wear, Parkinson? Were you going to take a little detour past curfew yourself? Maybe have your own make-out session with some poor sod?"

Whatever Pansy answered Blaise, Theo nor Draco heard it. Both just continued to stare at one another, a miscommunication between them that neither of them knew fully well of. Despite that, there was still a common emotion among them: _resentment_. Neither really knew how they got to that point, resenting each other and treating each other like they were complete strangers. There was a time in past school years that Draco could've considered Theo a friend—a better one than Blaise had been to him back then—and there was a time when Theo fit in the throng of respected Slytherins and went anywhere Draco went.

But that was then, and the now was right at that moment. And because there was a weighing pressure on Theo's shoulders, something that was causing friction in Draco's own life that he yet refused to acknowledge, there was no time to walk around on eggshells.

"Stay away from Hermione."

Malfoy's immediate response was to scoff. "You don't get to decide that." And why he chose to retaliate with that was beyond him, but he felt like it was suited. "Nor you or your mother get any say on my friendship with Granger."

The dark-haired Slytherin walked steadier to the blonde, no bemused expression on his face. Alike Blaise had done priorly, Draco saw the seriousness and determination in Nott's face; contrasting to whom they'd evolved to in the past year. "You don't want friendship from her," Theo's words came out flat. "Perhaps you did at the start of it, but you don't now. You're too stubborn to realize that, however; and I'm not going to stand idly by when you finally do see it."

Aggressively, Draco drank more of the bottle Pansy had left behind. His blood was boiling again, still with anger, but with lots more of it.

Where did Nott come off trying to order him about? He was _Draco Malfoy_, for fuck sakes, and he wasn't going to give something up that was his so easily to somebody else because they demanded it. He wasn't good with sharing. And, yeah, maybe the git was right, maybe he hadn't wanted friendship from Granger, but eventually he did. And it was his now. She was a part of his life, by Fate's smarmy decision, and Nott had no power to withdraw that.

"You got away with kissing her once, Malfoy, but you're not going to be so lucky next time."

"I wasn't planning to kiss her again," hissed the blonde. "And even if I was, you don't get a say in it."

Theo eyed Malfoy carefully. "You're right, I don't. But our marriage contract does. The closer the wedding date approaches, the magic intensifies and binds us. Try snogging her once more, Malfoy, and see where that leaves her. The loyalty clause in the contract will surely leave her writhing with pain before you can even enjoy it."

The image of Granger shrieking with pain was enough to make him drink more of the Rum. It was his personal nightmare, the brunette suffering before him and him having no power to make any of it go away. And perhaps knowing that and using it for his advantage, Nott had won the first round.

Gritting his teeth, trying to subdue the memory of not only Bellatrix Lestrange torturing the Gryffindor Princess before him, but her getting hit by the Sectumsempra curse by the attackers that were still on the loose, Draco decided to take the bottle back to his dormitory and get so pissed that he'd require three Sobering Potions by breakfast.

"She's marrying me, Malfoy—" Halting his path to the dormitories, Nott made Draco turn back around to face him. Having his attention again, Theo raised his left hand and waited for the blonde's eyes to focus on the speck of glimmer his ring finger was giving. "Betrothal at first, but she's fully accepted me now. So stay away from my fiancee."

His lips tightened into a hard line, back going rigid as Nott passed him and headed in the direction he'd been intending to previously. And once he heard his footsteps sound further away, echoing down to his own dormitory, Draco turned in a haughty fashion and launched the bottle of Rum to one of the walls of the common room. It shattered against it with a rough impact, making the portrait near fall down and crash onto the floor with the liquid smearing down the wall.

He gave her a ring. Nott had given Granger a fucking engagement ring. That sort of thing did not happen in betrothals—unless the _two _participants in the contract were fully willing and devoted to getting married. Engagement rings meant acceptance. Granger had accepted Nott.

Thinking that Granger was off with a glittering ring on her finger made him realize that the search he and the Zabinis were doing to end her betrothal was useless. Absolutely fucking useless. And the most enraging thing about that was that Draco _cared_. Draco actually fucking cared that the Gryffindor Princess had accepted the betrothal completely and no longer intended to fight it.

Maybe those around him had been right. Maybe he did want something more than friendship from Granger. And maybe, right there and then, he hated her for planting a seed of her essence inside of him without permission. She was growing and growing in between his bones and organs, hijacking his body and mind.

Sod it, he needed more alcohol for that revelation.


	17. The Domino-Effect

**Lover of the Light**

**Chapter Sixteen: **The Domino-Effect**  
**

_One day later..._

Hermione had the terrible habit of hiding from the world when something disturbed her. There, she said it. She'd be a liar if she denied that fact, but here she was, being honest. She knew that she'd seclude herself to her dormitory once more, threaten Parvati Patil not to go about revealing her whereabouts again, and just suffer by herself until someone had big enough quaffles to go and find her.

This time, however, she was choosing to embrace the unconditional love and support her friends have been giving her from day one and take the plunge. Regardless of wanting to hide underneath her blankets like she was a little girl, wishing the monsters underneath her bed away, she was going to have to get up, dress herself, and tell them what she needed to.

She was grateful it was a Saturday and she didn't have to hunt all four of them down during the busy school-day and their different schedules. It was almost surprising that she found them all together, entering the castle from their trip to Hogsmeade earlier that morning. She'd been tempted to ask why they were together, but when Blaise handed her an assortment of Sugar Quills and Ron a large box of Chocolate Cauldrons, she knew that they must've stumbled upon each other at Honeydukes and rivaled over what her favorite sweet was. Both had it wrong, by the way. It was Licorice Wands that she fancied.

She put a pause in their sweet-giving and ushered them to an empty classroom with a serious expression. All four of them knowing her and her tempter quite well followed after without a retort. And once she made sure not a single one got lost along the route to an abandoned classroom in the Fourth Floor, all bickering and stomping on the way up the ever-changing staircase and the corridor floor, she flicked her wand, arranging four single desks into a straight line, and ordered them to sit.

"We're not children," huffed Ginny as she obediently took a seat on the desk in the middle of her brother and her boyfriend.

"We're not children," mimicked Blaise, rolling his eyes at the ginger as he scooted his desk far from the three Gryffindors. "Honestly, Hermione, need I be here with them? I bought you your favorite sweets, didn't I? I don't need to suffer this kind of abuse."

Ron snorted loudly, leaning forward to glare at the Slytherin at the opposite end of the row. "Your mere existence is an abuse to us, Zabini. And 'Mione's favorite candies are Chocolate Cauldrons! I _told _you that in Hogsmeade. I would know, she's my best—"

"Is that a ring on your finger?"

Hermione had been standing in front of the four with her left hand practically smacked over her face. She waited almost two minutes before any of them noticed. And as her brother argued with Ron, both glaring at one another, Harry's eyes glancing between the Gryffindor and Slytherin, it took Ginny's rolling eyes to settle on the brunette before silence fell on them.

That is, silence that lasted less than three seconds.

"—Hermione?"

"—What the bloody hell is that?"

"—I'm going to kill him!"

A resounding use of wandless magic left all four students stuck to their seats. She was going to use a Silencing Charm to hush them all up, but the grave expression on her face made them all zip their lips tightly. (Some glaring at her with haughty disobedience—Blaise, mainly.)

She took a deep breath, looked them all in the eye, and exhaled noisily. "Yesterday, after the three of you left," she glanced at the only three Gryffindors, "Theo and I talked thoroughly about our betrothal. As you know, I didn't want to get married, but after...a deliberate discussion, we agreed that maybe getting married is the best thing for us."

One. Two. Three.

Four sets of distinctive eyes blinked at her robotically.

One. Two. Three.

She cleared her throat, ringing her hands together in front of her.

One. Two. Three.

She took another deep breath, braved to look them in the eye again, and exhaled slowly this time. "It's getting closer to the scheduled wedding date, and let's face it, we're not getting rid of that contract. It's impossible and never in the history of Pureblood betrothals has one been broken without death or mutual agreement before. If Theo and I are bound to this, then we're doing it amicably."

One. Two. Three.

She raised a brow at them.

One. Two. Three.

Nothing.

One. Two. Three.

"It might be pleasant. He has a horrid mother, that's a fact, but he's willing to put his foot down to keep her far from us as possible after the wedding occurs. We've discussed buying a separate home from both families, a neutral territory for us, and continue from there."

One. Two. Three.

Blaise opened a packaged Sugar Quill and started chewing at the end of it. His green eyes were on her, but they were unmoving.

One. Two. Three.

Ron coughed.

One. Two. Three.

Harry and Ginny continued to stare at her like she'd just sprouted a second head.

One. Two. Three.

"I...I understand that accepting this engagement ring is quite significant as far as betrothals go, so it's practically a sealed deal. And as I said before, we're both committed to try and have a...erm...a relationship."

One. Two. Three.

Blaise continued chewing on his Sugar Quill, but he extended the package to Harry and the latter took it without a glance at the Slytherin.

One. Two. Three.

Harry refused the candy, but Ginny took one and then handed the bag to Ron.

One. Two. Three.

Ron greedily took a few Sugar Quills, placed them on the counter of his desk, opened the box of Chocolate Cauldrons, grabbed a few, and then proceeded to pass them to his sister for distribution amongst the others.

One. Two. Three.

"It'll be fine, right? I mean, Theo's nice. He's been nothing but sensitive and lovely throughout all this ordeal. And we get on fairly well. He's attractive too, isn't he? I'm sure in no time I'll...erm...be head over heels for him. This marriage can work."

One. Two. Three.

"—Are you out of your _fucking _mind?!"

"—You've really lost it, 'Mione!"

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief when Blaise and Ron lost their silence. She was glad they started commenting, but then she wasn't when Ginny opened her mouth. "What about Malfoy?"

It was like one of them had cast their own use of wandless magic to make her stumble back a few steps. She swallowed an uneasy knot in her throat. "What about him?" Her voice was small, scared.

Ginny rose a delicate, red brow. "Don't play stupid, Hermione; you're just insulting yourself. You _like _Malfoy, remember?"

"I don't—"

"You kissed him and you liked it."

The brunette had to be quick to hide the hurt that swam into her brown eyes at that memory. It seemed like a long time ago, the kiss; yet she dreamt of it every night since then. It was far but it was near. It was also foolish and right; just like it was nothing and everything at the same time.

"Come on, Hermione," urged the redhead girl. "Why would you do something as stupid as this when you're clearly—"

"What's done is done," she replied instantly, fast before anything else could come out. "Snogging Malfoy...It's nothing. Now, Theo and I getting married, that's going to happen. I need all of you to be there for me. Don't fight with me, don't insult me, don't threaten people, just accept it like I have."

One. Two. Three.

Blaise yanked a chunk of Chocolate Cauldron with his teeth, glaring at her with great disappointment.

One. Two. Three.

Ron sighed, slouching against his desk and grabbing a sweet from his tabletop.

One. Two. Three.

Ginny narrowed her eyes, inspecting her, clearly frustrated with the older girl.

One. Two. Three.

Harry was the only one that stared at her like what hadn't left her mouth was completely ridiculous. He glanced at the engagement ring on her left hand, then back at her brown eyes.

If there was anybody in the world that trusted Hermione's judgement, maybe not always at first and without an argument, it was Harry. And Hermione was going to need one person on her side to help her go through with the agreement.

**X**

_Eight days later..._

She smiled as she reread a sentence from a delightful letter she got during breakfast.

_...he congratulated and told Mother I was an excellent student. He said if I kept it up that I could one day study Runes from tombs in Egypt! Egypt, 'Mione!..._

Hermione had been contemplating the idea of getting closer to Benjamin Nott from the moment she met him. He was a timid little boy, clearly scared of the world, and clearly out of friends. He was lonely and secluded, obviously mistreated by his mother—the frightful bitch—and it softened Hermione's already golden heart. That's why, on her return to Hogwarts, she decided to send him a little note to check up on him. And when he first replied, a day after, she could feel the excitement, fear, and gratitude exploding from his response.

The little boy was the only thing that was appealing from Theodore Nott's family. He was the only member of that family that gripped her from the moment her brown eyes found his anxious blue ones. He reminded her of a mixture of people—from herself to even Draco Malfoy—and she found that she cared for him instantly.

_...Mother grinned with pride, but when we Flooed home she said not to get any ideas. Tombs in Egypt are not a place for a respectable pureblood boy. What does that even mean, 'Mione?... _

Theo had approached her a few days before, asking if it was true that she was writing to his younger sibling. Hermione had retaliated with questions of her own, asking why it mattered that she did and if it was a problem. The Slytherin had only shaken his head at her, smiled that charming smile that was irritating as much as it was friendly, and they proceeded to go in different directions.

There was obviously more to little Benjamin's shy personality, but she figured that was too personal to ask Nott. Yes, they were set to marry, friends, but she felt like asking him something of that sort was crossing the line. Especially by the protecting gaze that took over Theo's dark eyes whenever his brother was brought up. In the end, she guessed, she'd find out when she became a Nott. And maybe then she could actually do something to ease all the boy's troubles and make his childhood something happy rather than the dull one he was living.

_...Aladdin was really entertaining, 'Mione. I wish I had more books like that. There's only books about laws, history, and fiancees in our library. Father used to tell me that there was no place for daydreaming. I like daydreaming. And I really liked Aladdin. Maybe one day I can live an adventurous life like he did, except not the stealing. And have a monkey like Abu..._

Smiling again, Hermione tucked Benjamin's letter into the pocket of her jeans and leaned over a small table to finish the response she had for him.

_You're brilliant, Benjamin! I'm sure your tutor was very impressed. You show great potential. And, hey, I'd like to go study Runes on a tomb in Egypt someday, too. Maybe once I'm done with Hogwarts you and I can take a trip there. I'll need someone as skilled in Ancient Runes as you to unravel the mysteries of old Egypt and their pharaohs with. _

_ Don't worry too much about the lack of enthralling books in your life. Once I marry your brother I promise to build a library filled with adventure books in our home just for you. You can stay over the weekend, holidays, or whenever you want to and read all of them. I'll even read with you! Don't tell anyone, but Hermione Granger likes to dabble in fiction books from time to time. People think me nothing but facts and evidence, but I like daydreaming too._

_ In the meantime, I'm sending another book to withhold you. This one's the story of a girl named Mulan. I translated the story into Chinese Runes, so take all the time to decipher it. It can be a bit of a challenge. Then again, you'll most likely surprise me._

_ Sincerely,_

_ 'Mione._

She tucked the letter under the strings of the parcel she had ready for Benjamin Nott. Humming a light tune, finding her mood several degrees better than its been in a while, she tied the package to her owl's leg. She scratched its feathers, kissed it on the head, and fed it a treat before it flew off into the afternoon.

She turned back to the table she was using in the Owlery to pack up her quill and inkpot when she felt arms wrap around her from behind. She stiffened immediately, not familiar with the height, the hard body behind her, or the smell of sandalwood and musk.

"Thank you."

Releasing the panicked puff of air that was caught in her throat, Hermione also let go of her wand that slipped from inside her sleeve. She turned around swiftly, back still rigid, and found Theo's black eyes glittering at her.

"What you can possibly talk about with an eight year-old—especially one you don't know—is beyond me, but I thank you. Your letters really make him happy, Hermione."

She cleared her throat, casually backing herself to the table and adding distance between them. "Don't thank me," she said in a voice that contrasted with her previous uncomfortableness, "I'm glad to do it. Your brother's a sweetheart. Writing to him doesn't take up a lot of my time, and I find it to be the only thing in my control these days."

Like she'd done, Nott backed away. There was a frown denting his forehead, causing his indigo-like eyes to appear frustrated. "I'm sorry," he sounded sincere. "I'm sorry that I've constantly made it impossible for you to be happy. Your brother might hate me and all, but maybe he's had a point all along. Maybe if I disappeared everything would be—"

Her heart really was made out of gold. She erased the space she and Nott had left open and wrapped her arms around his waist. He was taller than her so she pulled her head back a bit to meet his eyes. They glistened, they swam with hurt and self-loathing, and Hermione decided that she's seen too many people in her life with that same look on their face and she wasn't having it anymore.

She'd taken Theo's engagement ring, a symbol of her acceptance, and she wasn't going back on it. No matter how many times she took off the ring, tempted to throw it off the Astronomy Tower or feed it to Hagrid's creatures, or the eight nights she's spent crying instead of sleeping since he gave it to her.

"When we get married, Benjamin _will _live with us, Theo." She never moved her eyes from his. "He can be with us and be happy."

"But you won't be happy, Hermione."

She smiled sadly, finding that tears clouded her vision. "Neither will you."

His thumb went to wipe the fallen tear that landed on her cheek. "You're honestly the best friend I've never had."

Another tear fell. "Maybe that'll be enough to give Ben a happy life."

He hated himself. Absolutely fucking loathed himself. He'd been rooting for her, for someone to find a bloody way out of this betrothal, but here they were. Closer everyday in getting married. Both helpless, both miserable, and only him to blame.

He was a coward and he was manipulative, she was brave and always giving—it was no hassle to put that ring on her finger. He had to share something with her that nobody else knew, he had to give her all his secrets, something that no Slytherin does, and he waited for her to cry all the tears that she needed until she finally accepted and slid the ring onto her finger.

"Hermione—" As he remembered her crying, looking absolutely hopeless, he was about to tell her to sod the ring, forget everything, to keep fighting for a way out, but an owl swooped into the window of the Owlery and landed on her shoulder.

She pulled away from Nott, directing herself and the unknown owl to the nearest table. She laughed at the bird's gentle nipping of her ear, and took the note tied to its leg. "Where'd you come from?" She asked the owl. "Don't tell me George has managed to..."

_You're not forgotten, Aria. I'll see you soon._

There was a picture tied to the letter. It was of her. She was out by the greenhouses, conducting research on a few plants with Neville. She remembered that, it was not but three days ago. She hadn't seen anyone around the greenhouses but her, Neville, and the class of Second Years learning about Mandrakes.

Her attackers were closer than she imagined. They were inside Hogwarts and she had fought with Deon Zabini into not placing Aurors in the castle to watch over her.

She gulped.

"Hermione?"

Crunching the parchment and the photo, Hermione turned to the Slytherin with a carefree smile. "We should head back now, don't you think?"

**X**

_Thirteen days later..._

Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley were disgusting.

Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley were ridiculous.

Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley were annoying.

Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley were in _love_.

They were sitting on a desk in the middle of the room, on the right side and pressed against the wall of the Transfiguration classroom. Harry Potter was leaning on said wall, sitting saddle-style on the bench, and Ginny Weasley in between his legs; her own back flush against his chest. They were laughing about something and it echoed around every corner of the classroom.

They had waltz into the classroom holding hands, like most would find them doing so since they returned from the holidays as on-again boyfriend and girlfriend, and had eyes for no one but themselves. As such, Ginny followed her famous boyfriend to the desk of his choosing and grinned widely at him when he patted the bench for her to sit. One minute they'd gone from having a teasing conversation about Quidditch to Ginny shoving Harry playfully, calling him a git, and in the next Harry had her pressed to his chest and his chin resting on her shoulder as they spoke quietly.

Well, the mumbling between them had only last three minutes before a smile stretched Harry's face and his eyes glittered like it was the happiest moment of his life. He leaned forward, lifting his chin from the redhead's shoulder, and captured his girlfriend's lips with his. Shifting in the bench to get a much better hold of Harry's mouth, Ginny placed a hand at the side of his face, caressing his skin there with her fingertips, and both kept their eyes closed.

The snogging between the two Gryffindors lasted as long as it took for other classmates to walk through the doors of the Transfiguration classroom and for their wolf-whistles and their loud teasing to interrupt them. Harry flushed, Ginny smirked, and everyone else that knew them laughed whole-heartedly.

After that, Harry pecked her mouth, kissed both her cheeks, kissed the tip of her nose, and ended the kissing with one on her forehead. Ginny's eyes fluttered open after he was done and both shared this private, secret, and mesmerizing gaze with one another. It made them both glow, it made them both grin, and it made them both look complete.

Yes, Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley were in love. And yes, Hermione Granger found them absolutely disgusting.

_Bitter old hag_, she thought to herself, shaking her head in a self-scolding manner. How could she be such a grouch when it came to her friends? She'd been waiting forever for them to get together again and she was curling her lip in disgust at their display? It was beautiful and sweet that they loved each other that much. Hermione was happy for them.

_No, you're jealous of them_, her thoughts went off again.

She sighed. There was no point in denying the truth: she _was _jealous. Let it be known, however, that she wasn't jealous of Harry and Ginny. She was thrilled for them, really, but what nagged her and made her feel the green monster of envy jumping on her chest was _what _they had.

Despite the complications—the war and then Harry's stupidity—their love managed to triumph. They were perfect for each other; meant to be. They shared a love that was pure, that made him better and happy and complete, that made him have hope for the future and in himself. They shared a love that was strong, that made her grow and made her caring, that completed her and that overjoyed her.

Blinking away from her two friends, Hermione focused her gaze on her open book as her eyes watered. Her jealousy had quickly transformed to utter sadness, to gripping misery, and she was trying to fight off a sob trying to claw its way up her throat and past her lips.

She was never going to have what they had.

Hermione was never going to get a chance at a love that could consume her, that could make her feel so many things at once. She gave that up thirteen days ago. She gave up the opportunity to search for bliss and instead accepted a lifetime watching her friends have theirs and reading it off the pages of old books.

She closed her eyelids to forbid tears from falling, but in doing so, in letting her vision turn into darkness, the image, the taste, and the feel of kissing a certain boy took up her mind. She remembered the surge of excitement, of fear, and of fireworks taking up everything that she was when her lips moved along with his.

_No_, she berated herself, opening her eyes again. She couldn't. She wouldn't go there—it hurt too much.

She released a puff of oxygen she'd been holding in, turning in her lonely desk to make sure no one in the classroom saw her distress. As she did so, as she made sure Harry and Ginny were still being sickly sweet with one another, that Seamus was showing a few Gryffindors a new trick he learned, and Ron sat by himself, head buried in his arms in what look like a napping position, she turned to the doors of the classroom and she saw that her mind had summoned the devil.

In all of his glory, the Slytherin Prince pierced his silver eyes directly into her brown ones without remorse. His pale features were filled with indifference as always, cold and poised from the exterior, white-blonde hair tousled and around his forehead, almost touching his eyes, and she melted and froze at the same time.

It had been thirteen days since Theo gave her that ring, but it'd been _thirty-one_ days since she willingly had Draco Malfoy in her presence. They had avoided each other after their kiss, both afraid—she knew that much—but after that it'd been only her that was hiding. She avoided looking at him during classes, ate with her head down in the Great Hall, and stuck to a large group of Ravenclaws while studying in the library to dodge him.

Did she owe him an explanation? Did he want one?

Had the kiss meant anything to him?

Was their new-found friendship ruined because of it? Was there even friendship left?

And was he trying to squash unknown feelings too?

He started approaching, walking away from the doorway as more of their classmates entered. His footing was firm, fluid, and his eyes never left her face. They were icy, resenting—it broke her heart.

Maybe she'd been wrong, maybe she _did _like him. Maybe he grew on her, maybe she knew it as it was happening and didn't mind it at all. Maybe their kiss was something, and maybe it did shake up her world.

More tears came for a swim in her brown orbs, his grey ones lessened in resentment, but then he was blocked from her peripheral view when another Slytherin stood between them. "Good day, Miss Granger."

Draco's right palm clutched itself into a fist when Nott appeared and kissed the Gryffindor Princess on the cheek. He settled his schoolbag on the open space next to her, a hand on her back, and sat himself on her bench like it was his assigned place.

Granger turned slowly around, hunching her back, shrinking away from Nott's touch, and the other did not falter. Instead, he rubbed her back soothingly and silence fell among them.

"Disgusting, isn't it?" Appearing through the doors, Zabini and Parkinson stood beside Malfoy for a moment. "I want to hex his bits off but she forbids it."

"She'll probably need those bits for the honeymoon."

Draco and Blaise both flashed Pansy a deadly glare and the witch backed away; not without a smirk and high, mocking laughter. Zabini settled himself on the seat next to him, tossing his bag on the floor and propping his legs up on the tabletop. And right as McGonagall strolled in, Draco didn't miss Pansy putting a hand on the Weasel's back, waking him from his slumber, and taking a seat next to him.

**X**

_Twenty days later..._

"Stop fidgeting," he told her with a chuckle, looking down at her shorter figure and grinning. "It's going to be fine."

She looked up at him, narrow eyed and completely out of patience. "How do you know that?" She huffed at him, waiting for a response. A response she didn't let him give. "This will be complete chaos, Nott, and you know it."

He knew she was right—when isn't she—but he still grinned. "Maybe so, Hermione, but it's necessary. All part of the charade, isn't it? Now, smile and play the part."

She grumbled a curse word.

"That's the spirit," Theo goaded her. "Real ladylike. Charm your hair red and you'll be a perfect Weasley."

Professor Flitwick passed them in the corridor, a smile at first as his eyes landed on Hermione, but then it dimmed at her and her company. He looked surprised, and not in the good way. He slowed his walking, dropping a box of feathers, and Nott laughed as he continued to drag her along to their destination.

The Gryffindor groaned. She just knew it was a terrible idea. She had that feeling in her gut. Usually, she ignored that feeling and trusted her brain instead, but whatever logical reasoning Theo gave her to convince her to do this was being drawn out by the screaming of her gut. It told her _no, no, no, no_—but there she went. Selfless like always.

"You worry too much, Hermione."

"With good reason, Nott."

"It'll be fun."

"It's going to be a nightmare."

He shrugged and said nothing. He kept that irritating grin on and helped her turn the corridor and into the hall where her Ancient Runes class was located. He insisted on making her late for starters, all part of the plan he'd said, and now they were met with a group of students waiting outside for the professor to show up and their lesson to commence.

The class was compiled of a selected group of students: Hermione, Daphne Greengrass, Padma Patil, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Susan Bones, Zacharias Smith, Dean Thomas, Cho Chang, Pansy Parkinson and Draco Malfoy. And the moment that her and Theo turned the corner, they all stopped their conversations amongst each other and _looked _at them.

The surprise that'd been on Professor Flitwick's face was now on most of Hermione's friends. And, once again, it was not the good kind. How could it be? She was standing there, fingers intertwined with Nott's intimately, he was carrying her books—acting like a couple.

Equal looks of indignation and confusion crossed their classmates' faces.

At the same time, Nott and Hermione found sharp, grey eyes sending waves of hate at them. Finding resolution to glance away from them, Hermione found that Malfoy was not the only one full of disgust.

"Problem, Smith?" Hermione cringed when her ears picked up Theo's voice.

Zacharias Smith, Hufflepuff and fellow D.A. member, was white faced, blue eyes scowling, and clenching his fists. His aversion to the sight that the Slytherin and Gryffindor were rivaled that of Malfoy's and was more public than the latter's.

Nott's grin turned into a leer at the reaction. "Think of it as House unity. Hermione and I are flawless together."

Hermione gasped as Zacharias ripped his back against the corridor wall and headed towards them, wand out, but Susan Bones managed to grip her housemate by his shoulder before anything grave occurred.

"Ignore him, Zack," breathed Susan. "He's a git."

Theo's leer was still full, flashing at the other students, but when he moved to face Hermione it disappeared. His black eyes were serious and the hand holding on to hers was a painful grip.

"Why are you antagonizing them?"

The dark-haired Slytherin handed the Gryffindor her books back. He didn't say anything for a moment, watching her clutch and gather all her belongings with one free arm. "Because," he murmured like it was the most painful thing ever, his other hand reaching up to cup the left side of her face, "it's the only way."

**X**

_Twenty-four days later..._

N.E.W.T.s were approaching faster than the Seventh Years imagined. The exams were pushed to the back of their minds as returning to Hogwarts was more about reuniting with the rebuilt castle, seeing friends that survived, and relishing in the memories that the grounds brought. It was bittersweet being back, and no one paid much mind to graduating from the school. That is, until McGonagall announced the three-month mark until the exams started. Most, who were deadly concerned about relearning everything they forgot, hurried to the library and began studying immediately. Others said they'd start, but not so motivated in actually doing so. For the first time in history, the Brightest Witch of the Age found herself in that procrastinating lot.

Her N.E.W.T.s studyguide was in front of her, Charms section opened, listing all the things that would be on the exam, suggesting practice methods, and yet Hermione found herself doodling on the pages.

She sighed.

Were she fully concentrated on the fact that she was damaging her studyguide with green ink—grabbing that wrong one from her schoolbag instead of the professional black—she would've reprimanded herself severely. Unfortunately for her valuable study time, Hermione's mind was long gone and stuck in a memory inside of her bedroom in the Zabini Estate...

She was a complete mess, pale and weak, recovering from the Sectumsempra curse, but the boy seated on an armchair next to her bed did not care. He didn't look at her like she was unkempt with wrinkled pajamas, looking like death; instead he watched as she drank all her potion with precise care. His facial features were blank as she remembers them being always, but his silver eyes had gleamed like the protective light of the moon during dark nights.

She'd been so confused that he was there, feeding her the potions the Healer gave like clockwork. She didn't know why he'd observe her until the potions took their effect, making her less pale, making her feel less in pain. She didn't know why he was the last thing she saw when she closed her eyes and the first when they opened—why he never seemed to leave her side despite getting what he'd wanted.

All she knew was that it started a domino-effect.

"Enough," she murmured to herself, shaking her head like she could shake the memories out.

She would've found that it was going to take more than a scolding to remove her thoughts from the Slytherin Prince, but her eyes rolled to the back of her head without her consent.

She felt dizzy.

Her head was spinning, thoughts spinning, brain-cells spinning, veins—everything inside her was twirling in rapid motions. Her chest started heaving: in, out, in, out, in, out with complete force. Her throat felt tight, like she was being choked.

_Aria._

She gasped, scared, opening her mouth to scream but nothing came out.

_Aria._

She couldn't see anything. Her vision had gone white like the sclera of her eyeballs. She was panicking more, the blood in her body feeling like it was running cold and yet thicker than normal. Her hand on the table dropped the quill; moving frantically around the tabletop in a hurried search for her wand.

_Aria._

Her fingers sensed the automatic heat of her wand, magic ready to spew out, but her hand suddenly went immobile. She couldn't move her hand, couldn't cast a spell to release her of the tortuous bind she was in. She was gasping again, panting wildly, but nothing.

Nothing until she felt an electrical shock on her shoulder.

And just like that, she was free.

"Hermione, are you okay?"

Dragging in oxygen from her nostrils, fingers squeezing her wand to the point of almost snapping it, Hermione found that the shocks of electricity moved from her shoulder, down her arm and onto her free hand. The shocks settled on her fingers, lighting her up with warmth that her body seemed desperate for.

"Malfoy?" She gasped out when the infamous blonde appeared on the chair next to her, still squeezing her fingers.

The Slytherin eyed her carefully, watching as she breathed with difficulty and closed her eyelids. "You seem ill."

_Not ill_, she wanted to tell him, _scared and prosecuted_. Someone had entered her mind. Someone had infiltrated her head and practically suffocated her.

She didn't respond. With silence looming over them, her eyes remaining closed, he used his awake ones to scan her. He paid extra attention to her face: rosy cheeks, nose, pink, plump lips and found that he missed them. He felt pathetic for admitting it, but he needed to have her this close on a regular basis to feel like he'd accomplished something during the day.

How'd he get to this point?

A smile was about to tug on his lips, but he blinked and caught sight of a glimmering band on one of the fingers he was holding. He released her at once and flew up from his seat.

"No!" It was loud, people turned, but Hermione didn't care that she was in the library. Her eyes shot open, frantic and terrified, and her fingers went to immediately grab onto any part of him. "Wait, Malfoy—_stay_."

Her tone was desperate and he had to ask, "why?"

Tears accumulated in her orbs. "Because," her voice quivered along with the fingers holding onto his wrist, "you make everything better. You...Just stay. _Please_, Malfoy. Stay." There was such a double meaning to that. She needed him to touch her, to send that invisible cure his skin had into her pores. She needed him to sit next to her, hold her hand, make the pain she was feeling disappear; to numb it. She needed that as desperately as she needed him—just him.

"Wouldn't want to upset your fiancee now, would we?"

He went to pull his wrist from her hold but she fought him. "Don't bring Theo into—"

"Why wouldn't I?" He hissed. "You're his, aren't you?"

"I'm not—"

"Yes, you are!"

"Theo doesn't matter," she practically screeched back. She just wanted the calm he surprisingly brought her. Why couldn't he see that? "I don't even know why you care about him! Just please sit—"

"You should." He gave one more forceful tug and managed to get free. He was angry, looking like the true Slytherin he'd been before the war. "You _should _fucking know why I care, Hermione."

He stalked away. He left her with nothing but a furious sneer to remember and the fear in her bones that someone had penetrated her mind from inside Hogwarts' library.

**X**

_Twenty-six days later..._

"Honestly, Ronald. I went to the trouble of making you a study-chart, the least you could do is use it. Look, if you mix the lacewing flies into the potion you're going to end up with what Seamus ends up with all the time—an explosion." Reaching across the work table, Hermione separated her friend's ingredients into a yes-and-no pile. "Dragon's blood?" She rolled her eyes. "Why in Merlin's name would you need Dragon's Blood to make Veritaserum?"

As the brunette lectured, Ron's focus was on the other end of the classroom. Feeling especially jolly that day, Slughorn had paired off students to assist one another in areas of potion-making that they needed help with; meaning that several students were hardly concentrated, walking in and out of the classroom, and conversations boomed. While he got Hermione—brilliant and lovable Hermione—Harry was sent to the opposite end to work with Pansy Parkinson.

Harry looked frustrated, not by his partner but by the material. Knowing his best friend, Ron could guess that Harry's mind was on the Half-Blood Prince's potions book and whether there was a chance it could be rescued from the Room of Hidden Things. Part of Ron sympathized, potion-making was not their forte, it was Hermione's; alike every other subject. But another part of him, a disturbingly large part, was intent to every movement the witch beside Harry made.

If she was having trouble with their potion, Ron couldn't tell. Her pale face was like a blank canvas, void of anything. Her stuck-up expression did not appear once, not even when Harry turned to talk to her. They seemed to be discussing their potion like they were friends, like it was an everyday occurrence that the Boy-Who-Lived talked to the girl that was willing to give him up to Voldemort not nine months ago. Twice for some reason, something he'd have to ask Harry later about, she laughed; tossing her head back and her shoulders shaking with the vibration of that laughter. It was enthralling—he found _that _annoying.

"Mint? Why is there mint here, Ronald? For goodness sake, you're trying to make Veritaserum not mouthwash!"

He told himself several times that he was not going to think about their mutual secret, the one that linked them, one that shifted things between what was right and what was wrong, but he just couldn't. How could he? She was bloody everywhere. Not just that, everytime she did something like laugh, like smile, like look normal, he was thrown off. He knew her secret, he knew her pain, but she hadn't lost her mind like he had. Regularly, she was nothing but cool expressions, mocking laughter, but he'd seen what was behind that. Between that, between her truth and those odd smiles and laughter, he found that he just couldn't bloody stop thinking about her.

_Why?_

He could rip his hair out and make a carpet out of it for how much she frustrated him. She unsettled and settled him at the same time. And if her glances towards his direction—his blue and her blue meeting, powerful and knowing, secretive and distant—didn't stop, he was going to end up crazier than before.

"Ronald!"

Fluttering his lids with bewilderment, Ron looked away from ahead of the classroom to find Hermione scowling at him in a way his mother does when he didn't clean his room.

"Be careful with that!" Her finger pointed to the cauldron in front of him. "You're boiling the potion too early! While it's steaming it _can _be dangerous, Ron. Create enough mist to be inhaled and you'll have everyone spilling their guts!"

"Right, right," he coughed. "Sorry, 'Mione. Bit distracted."

Hermione huffed, her scowl not leaving. She was not having a good day and Fate decided to be a bitch by pairing her with her redheaded best friend. As much as she loved Ron, he was impossible in Potions. She had a much better chance making him concentrate in Defense Against the Dark Arts because he was like every _wizard _that thought that by casting a strong hex made them a man. In his words, Potions requires kitchen skills. She could kill him, really.

"Maybe you'd be more focused if you stopped gawking at Parkinson."

Right as Harry's partner laughed again, Ron turned immediately to his own. "What? I'm not—"

"Oh, _please_," scoffed the brunette. "You can't lie to save your life, Ron. Not to mention I'm not blind—you've been staring at her since class started. Why don't you ask Harry to change partners with you if you're that desperate to have her around you?"

Ron could feel his ears turn red. "I don't know what—"

"How about you be honest with me and just _tell _me what's going on between you?" She crossed her arms, frowning and tapping a foot as she watched him expectantly. "My life may be a mess, but I'm not lost in it not to notice what happens in my friends' lives."

She was bloody good, he knew that much. She was absolutely brilliant at everything, but she was also especially scary as she was a humanitarian. If he did tell her she'd run off to attempt to play mother-hen. Besides, it wasn't his secret to tell. Ron may have messed up in the friend department loads of times, but he always took secrets to the grave.

"_Fine_," she huffed angrily, completely out of patience.

He didn't even get a chance to explain himself when his partner turned on her heels and headed towards the door of the classroom.

She was acting like a total cow, Hermione was well aware of that. She knew that her understanding had been clogged all day, and all day she'd been snapping at people like they were the ones that discomforted her. Truth be told, she was discomforting herself. For a moment, even if for the smallest second, she wanted not to be herself. She wanted to be able to run away from herself, hide in a cave and not come out until everything was settled.

"...like that! Well, fuck you!"

Back pressing against the corridor wall, like someone had shoved her to it, Hermione remained silent as she heard arguing at the turn of the hall.

"Clever remark; is that all you have?"

"You don't fool me with this sudden change of heart! You don't even bloody fool yourself!"

There was a snort.

"Be a man and admit the truth!"

"Don't pretend to know—"

"Oh, but that'd be the day, wouldn't it? Slytherin scum don't know the truth if it bit them in the ass!"

"Listen here, _Hufflepuff_, I will curse you back and make you regret the day you crossed my path!"

"Do it! I fucking dare you! Take my wand—_take it_! Curse me!"

The side of her that was a Prefect launched away from the wall and practically ran to turn the corner. And as she did, as she almost slipped on the marble flooring of the hall, Hermione found Zacharias Smith shoving his wand into the hands of Theodore Nott.

The atmosphere couldn't have been thicker with hatred if anyone tried to make it so. The three stood in a triangle; blue, black and brown eyes shifting between each other like a dance. The only difference was that Hermione's were alarmed, Zacharias' were infuriated, and Theo's were quick to mask themselves into smugness.

"Ah," grinned the Slytherin, "my lovely fiancee is here. Did you know she's a prefect, Smith? Care explaining to her why you were on the verge of attacking me?"

Hermione shot Nott a warning glance as he started approaching her with a swagger to his step, grin on his face that didn't make his eyes sparkle in a way he hoped looked convincing.

Nott attempted to put an arm around her shoulders but she shoved him off. Hermione looked at the Hufflepuff with reassuring eyes, trying to ease the situation before hexes started flying. "Zacharias, calm—"

"Piss off, Granger," hissed the Hufflepuff. He shoved his wand into the pocket of his robes and started walking. And before he turned the corner where Hermione had come from, he pushed into her with his shoulder; making her stumble and land into Theo.

An exasperated sigh escaped the girl's mouth as Nott settled her on her feet again. "He hates me," she mumbled to the Slytherin. "Everyone hates me."

Dropping all his facades, Theo looked sadly at Hermione. "No, they all hate me."

_Thirty-one days later..._

She hated being the Mary-Sue.

If there was something that revolted Hermione it was powerless women. Not the kind that were weak or defenseless by default, but the ones that chose to be. She didn't respect women who chose not to fight their own battles, that left their lives in the hands of others. If there was anything that being in the Wizardying World taught her, it was that she was perfectly capable to fight, maim, and protect equally as effective—if not more—than the most experienced soldier.

She was used to knowing things. And if she didn't know them, she was used to burying herself in research and finding the answer. She was also used to being the voice of reason, but in this case she wasn't. In that past month she'd become a contradiction of all her beliefs.

_We're not done with you yet._

Fingering the anonymous note she received earlier that week, Hermione felt more than angry at herself. A part of her wanted to go straight to McGonagall and the Zabinis to inform them that the enemy was inside the walls of the castle. She wanted to trust them, wanted to confide in Harry and in Ron, her sworn protectors and faithful companions. She wanted to get this problem sorted, but then a more prominent part, one that was influenced by her stubbornness, told her not to.

That was her paradox Mary-Sue complex.

She knew that this problem might be out of her hands, that maybe she wouldn't be able to protect herself; yet she refused to bring anyone into it because she assumed she could handle it in the long run.

Reality was that she was growing scared.

Not just by the threat of those trying to hurt her, but because her control had already slipped from her fingers and crashed around her feet.

Nothing was right.

Forget the news of her being a Zabini by birth, it was what came with that title. It was the loss of her muggle history; having a new family; knowing that she was walking around with a Glamour Charm on her, that all her features weren't really hers; the crushing of her would-be romance with Ron; her betrothal to Nott; his horrid mother; and Malfoy.

She groaned, tossing her back against the grass of the lonely hill she'd claimed as her own during the last break of the day. She closed her eyes and wasn't surprised that her mind took the chance to display the face of Draco Malfoy. She hadn't known it before, but her memories really gave justice to his features. It wasn't until she went without him, without his presence and their conversations, that she began studying every detail about him.

He was gorgeous, really. And she understood the swagger to his step when he walked; that stupid, arrogant bastard.

"Wrackspurts got you down?"

Opening her left eye, Hermione found a hazy figure standing above her. The carefree smile, the dreamy blue eyes, the pale complexion, and that long blonde hair was enough to make her snort. "Hello, Luna."

"Hello, Hermione," greeted the Ravenclaw, her dulcet tone ringing along with the breeze passing through them. Taking the liberty, Luna took a seat next to the brunette. With a quick examination of the older girl and her pose, Luna shrugged her shoulders and laid on the grass exactly like Hermione. "Are we cloud-watching?"

Sometimes, Luna was a subject caught between love and annoyance. Though the girl was rather sweet, Hermione couldn't always stand the sparkly personality that made up the Ravenclaw. It was one thing to daydream, but a completely different thing to live there. Despite that, as wishy-washy as it sounded, Hermione thought that everyone needed a Luna in their lives. It kept things interesting.

"Oh! Look! That one looks like a Dabberblimp!"

Opening her right eye, Hermione's focus went to a cloud the Ravenclaw was indicating. It didn't have a shape. In fact, the grey sky above them was practically cloudless. They were still in the winter season, there was going to be nothing but gloomy, murky skies and rain for several months.

"That looks like a pancake to me, Luna."

"Well, if you opened your mind a little, Hermione, you'd see the Dabberblimp." Luna chortled to herself, shaking her head and fanning her blonde hair more throughout the grass. "No wonder the Wrackspurts have you down."

The brunette looked away from the sky. "I don't know what that means."

"Not surprising," replied the Ravenclaw. "But you don't know a lot of things lately, do you?"

Were it any other occasion, any other lifetime, Hermione would've snapped with defense. Were it those times, she would've—as politely and directly as possible—told that blonde that she was full of rubbish fantasy and that she didn't have time for imaginary creatures. But seeing as it wasn't those times, Hermione just exhaled noisily and nodded.

Why deny the truth? She hadn't a clue about anything.

"People think that love is true only when its simple." Hermione furrowed her brows at the next words that came from Luna. "That's not true at all, is it? Love doesn't have to be Nargles infesting Mistletoe and conspiring to join you with someone. Love isn't always obvious. Love can be true when it seems hopeless and out of your control."

Hermione's lips couldn't part to respond when Luna flashed her blue eyes away from the sky to her.

"Love not only gives you light in the darkness, but love is also the darkness. It's simple to give up and dwell in pity, but Love never does that. Love keeps going. Love keeps existing until the last candle is burnt out."

Hermione managed to swallow and moisten her throat. "W-Wha—"

"Dumbledore was right when he said that Love conquers everything," continued Luna like she hadn't heard the Gryffindor try and form a sentence. "I'm sorry about your betrothal with Theodore Nott, Hermione. It must be awful."

"How do—"

"But it must be more awful to give up on love."

No words wanted to come out of Hermione's lips then. The knot in her throat forbade it even if they tried to come on out.

"It's not selfish to check if the flame is still burning." Luna smiled gently. "It's not wrong to assume there is a flame. And it's not wrong to become invisible and hide yourself in the place you need to be in the most."

Hermione's head was rushing. "Luna, what—"

"Oh, here comes your brother," interrupted the Ravenclaw again.

Surely enough, as Hermione and Luna pulled themselves into a sitting position, Blaise came cat-walking to them. A smirk pulled his lips, exposing his white teeth, and something mischievous sparkled in his emerald gaze.

"How'd you keep finding me, Blaise?"

"Little First Years," was his immediate response as he chucked his schoolbag onto the grassy space in front of the girls. "They're small: that makes them easily overlooked and easily scared. It took one wave of my fist and they all pointed to here." He turned away from his half-sister, examining the blonde. "None mentioned Loony Lovegood, though."

Hermione frowned, crossing her arms. "It's _Luna_, Blaise."

The Slytherin kept roaming his eyes over the Ravenclaw like it was free reign. He'd heard about the girl, dodged her like many others, but he had never really been in her presence before. He hadn't even known what she really looked like. And now that he did get a good view, it was pretty interesting to see what made up the girl.

"You're still mad at me, I'm guessing?" He cleared his throat, turning back to the brunette.

His sister scowled.

"I'll take that as a yes," he huffed as he took off his robes. He sprawled them on the grass, dragging an edge of it with the tip of his shoe to extend it out. "Though, I really don't see how this is my fault."

"You told Deon and Allegra about the ring!"

Blaise rolled his eyes, carefully sitting himself on his robes. "Well, _you _accepted the ring. Had you chucked it at his face and hexed his balls off, we wouldn't be having our first, real sibling fight, would we?"

"You're impossible."

"I'm handsome," he corrected after her groan. He turned back to face the blonde, an eyebrow raised to let her know that he was definitely giving her the go-over.

Much to his ego, Luna Lovegood had no clue that he was trying to intimidate her. After all, Luna was not intimidated—ever. Especially not by a boy; a boy _Slytherin _to be precise. She just watched him right back with her whimsical gaze and studied him in return.

And once she found what she thought was worth searching for, Luna rose to her feet and dusted her skirt. "I better be off. Neville's waiting for me."

"Oi, stay for a while, Loony," chirped Zabini before Hermione could say a farewell to her friend. "I just got here. Unless...Am I too charming for you? I do give witches that impression, you know. Some have even passed out due to it."

The Ravenclaw picked out a stray leaf from her long locks. "I'm actually leaving because I don't like you, Zabini. Well, all of Ravenclaw doesn't like you at the moment for the things you've been saying about Cho. I just figured, for once, I'd show some House spirit."

Blaise frowned while still managing to look offended. "I didn't—"

"Bye." Wiggling her fingers at them, Luna turned and started skipping back the way she came from.

"That girl's mental! How can she not find me charming? I can even charm that pants off Moaning Myrtle. Loony is not—"

"_Invisible_! Luna's a genius!"

"Oi!" Hermione launched herself to her feet and started sprinting after the Ravenclaw. Zabini was left alone, looking appalled and forgotten. "Come back here, Hermione! I don't do lonely!"

**X**

He'd been thinking of Astoria Greengrass for some time now.

Back in the days when he thought he was on top of the world, he did have some sort of friendship with several Slytherins that he'd known since childhood; that were commanding and respected and feared—not just within their House but in others—and because his father expected it from him because or who their families were. He didn't have best friends and didn't get touchy-feeling with them like a bloody Hufflepuff, but once upon a time he shared laughter and easy conversations with a few. And one of those selected people had been Daphne Greengrass.

She was in his year and his parents always encouraged him to keep friendly with her because of her family. He did it out of obligation, but he did find her easy to be around with. She was a bitch and annoying when she wanted to be, but she wasn't a lap-dog in the way that Pansy had been with him. Greengrass never attempted to impress or grab anyone's attention by being the damsel in distress or the girl that was always willing to give you a go. She kept to her friends, sister, kept a decent reputation as a Slytherin, and then proceeded to have a disastrous relationship with Zabini.

Before he lost himself completely in the task of planning Dumbledore's murder, Draco had been vaguely aware when Daphne's younger sister started to show up more often. She'd been beautiful, Astoria. A typical pureblood witch: tall, blonde, piercing eyes, and a silence about her that no one bothered to figure out. They talked once or twice in passing and that'd been it. He really never gave her a second glance.

It wasn't until a depressing and shit excuse of a Christmas, when he and his family were kept as prisoners in their own Manor as the Dark Lord continued to destroy their world, that he found out about his betrothal to her. The Greengrass patriarch didn't carry the dark mark, but alike Deon Zabini, Mister Greengrass had been useful to the Dark Lord because of his political standing in other countries. And it'd been that night when that family had been over, mainly to discuss matters with Bellatrix about an underground movement in Russia for her to report to her beloved master, that plans of a wedding started brewing between the mothers of both families.

Draco had kept his head down, hadn't looked at Daphne or Astoria, and retreated to his room as soon as dinner had been over. He'd been expecting Bellatrix or his father to storm up to his bedroom to try and drill the importance about his tie to a pureblood witch to bring honor to the family, to continue the legacy, to give potential servants for the Dark Lord, but it'd been his mother that found him after. Narcissa Malfoy was not the openly affectionate mother, but he remembered that she looked at him with sympathy then.

'_I'm sorry,_' she had whispered, barely audible that he didn't think he heard it at all. _'It's the way it has to be.'_

He knew that to be true. It wasn't a secret that every member of his family—both Black and Malfoy—had been married off to someone with a legacy as pure as the one before it. His own parents' marriage was arranged. And knowing how proud Lucius Malfoy was of his history, Draco didn't expect anything less than to fulfill the same duties as him. That included an arranged marriage and servitude to the Dark Lord.

'_...Maybe you'll fall in love, Draco,' _his mother had also whispered as he gave her his back. _'I eventually did. It's possible.'_

He hadn't heard about wedding plans or the Greengrasses again after that Christmas night. So much had happened; the war had started raging, Potter was on the move, the Dark Lord was getting more vicious, the immediate call for battle at Hogwarts—and all the bloodshed and deaths that came after.

Astoria Greengrass had died as one of the many casualties of war. She'd been brought up twice after: the discussion of going to her funeral, to give their respects to the Greengrasses; and when his mother had mentioned that his duty of an arranged marriage had been canceled. After that, he never gave her another thought. He didn't know her, she wasn't a friend, and he didn't care.

Lately, however, he wondered if things would've been different at the very moment if she would've been alive. Would he attempted to woo her? Would she have been around more? Would they've come to an agreement—given it a chance?

Most likely not. If there was a single person in the world that he had to be honest with, it was himself. Draco knew perfectly well that he was long gone down in an abyss to give a damn about a girl and a marriage. His mind was fucked, his soul was torn, his heart was frozen. He would've ended up loathing her; tying her as another expectation as a Malfoy to achieve.

But, maybe...

Maybe if Hermione hadn't come into his life the way she had, throwing everything off balance, he wouldn't be thinking of Astoria Greengrass at all. If Hermione hadn't captivated him in a way he never wanted to be captivated before, then he wouldn't be hoping for the girl to still be alive so that he'd have a reason to forget about Hermione. And that was the thing wasn't it? He needed an outlet to forget about the Gryffindor Princess.

But how could he? What was powerful enough to make him forget that she existed, that she changed him?

Perhaps she didn't change him completely—war had done that by its own disastrous accord, but she had managed to shift things significantly. His views on blood purity had changed during the war: when he watched people die in front of him, when he was ordered to curse, when he saw Bellatrix torture Hermione, when every Muggle-born and every Half-Blood bled as red as a Pureblood did. He didn't give two fucks about blood purity by the time the secret of her being a Zabini and a pureblood came to light. That hadn't mattered, she hadn't transformed in his eyes because of that.

It had been her heart.

In the list of people that had every right to hate him, she was amongst the top three. He knew she didn't though; knew that she wasn't capable of it when she helped save his life that night the Room of Requirement started burning down or when she testified to keep him from Azkaban. He saw rage in her eyes when he stepped through the Floo and they both found out that his parents were her Godparents, but it was never hate. She lashed out words that made him angry that first night of their reunion, but she never gave an inclination that she loathed him with as much passion as he'd once hated her. Despite dealing with her own problems, hating every aspect of her new life, she gave in to the fact that he and his parents were going to be around her—after throwing a tantrum, that is. And when he'd been cornered by her to ask for what he needed to ask, memories of hatred did not cross her features once when he requested forgiveness. She had instead given it to him easily, like it had been no effort at all to let the past be the past.

That started the domino-effect.

He'd been studying her for a while, but by that moment, when she told him she didn't blame him for the scars Bellatrix left on her arm and that he was forgiven of the burden he carried from her part, he really started seeing her under a new light. He found a new world in the eyes staring back at him that had gone unnoticed by him for years. There was something about the brown in her gaze. It wasn't dark and plain; it was vibrant, it had golden specs, and they were filled with trust as much as they were virtuous.

He'd been close to her before that night, and he knew that she was always forgiving as she was stubborn. He'd been around her long enough to accept the fact that the Gryffindor Bookworm was pretty, but that night, that night she forgave him, he thought she was beautiful. He didn't care that she was almost transparent as a ghost or on her sickbed, he could _see _the unadulterated soul she lived with and it was captivating. And the night of the Christmas ball at the Zabini Estate, when she descended from the stairs and met his eyes...no words short from breathtaking and exquisite could be compared to her. She lit up a light inside of him that he'd been trying to dim.

When they started spending time together, one on one, he confirmed that she really was unlike any other. She wasn't the least bit interested in what was in the magazines, what was the latest gossip, what was in as fashion, or what anyone wrote about her and her two friends in the newspaper. She shied away from all attention; didn't crave it nor did it matter. When she spoke, it was something unfiltered, deep and honest. When she had thoughts to share, letting him listen despite the urge of not wanting to, he found that they were dark and tortured; almost as similar to the ones he carried. And when they had conversations, simple and neutral conversations disregarding the world outside her bedroom, he found that she was the only one that challenged him. She fought, debated, shot back, mocked, and stung equally as he did. Nothing about spending time with her was dull—not even when both sat in silence and read books from her overflowing bookcase.

Little by little, undetected by him, she became a part of his day. She became something that he considered his. And when Regina Nott started appearing, interrupting his time with her to discuss wedding plans, the cruel, selfish bastard in him started poking his ribs; signaling that he was definitely still in there. He'd never felt that type of discomfort in his life, so he hadn't known what to do with it when it happened. He just got up, left to find Blaise, and left her to her wedding plans—despite the urges that told him to stay. That fateful night, the night they kissed, he'd been on the patio subconsciously, halfway drunk but coherent enough. He _wanted _to be there for her; he wanted to be there when she needed to step out of the room to breathe and feel and be Hermione the Righteous Gryffindor. And when she had appeared, just as he hoped and expected, and gazed at him with those lovely eyes of hers, he knew he was done for it. He had already let her in.

The kiss had wiped out all the other kisses he'd had in his lifetime.

But then she'd gone and accepted an engagement ring from Nott. They had started to act as a couple: holding hands, walking to class together, and disappearing together after dinner. Draco had seen his fellow Slytherin, on occasion, sneak his way back into the common room and head to his dormitory after curfew. He didn't want to think that he was out there with her, that the acceptance of their betrothal was something more, but who else would he be with?

His mind had developed the memory of a night two weeks ago when he'd been sitting alone by the fireplace, Nott walking in looking completely frazzled, blatantly ignoring him, when he felt a tingle run up his spine. The memory of that dark scene started getting blurred, a light started appearing by the hall of the dormitories, one that didn't exist.

Someone was trying to penetrate his mind.

He bolt upright from his four-poster. Automatically, like how he'd been taught by Bellatrix and Snape, Draco put up mental-barriers to forbid anyone access to his mind. He concentrated, barely any effort as he applied the Occlumency techniques he'd learn to defend himself from trespassers.

"Impressive."

Goyle had been off who-the-fuck cares where, Zabini was probably whoring about before curfew was called—he was supposed to be alone in the dormitory. But he wasn't. He heard the voice. It was implanted in his mind, it echoed around the lonely room.

He opened the curtains of his four-poster in one hard yank. And surely enough, no one was there.

"My Occlumency is not as powerful as that." On the left side of his bed, where nothing but a nightstand tucked in the corner was, a brunnette appeared from thin air. "But I bet you'd love the fact that Harry is complete rubbish at it."

Draco stared wide-eyed as the Gryffindor Princess smiled lightly before him, folding a cloak casually.

"If I had better luck, I would've caught you sleeping and nosed about your head again."

He hid his surprise as quickly as she'd caused it. He went impassive. "What are you doing here, Hermione?"

She raised her brow at his use of her first name.

He didn't notice. "How'd you even get in?"

The girl shrugged. "Long story."

Resting his back against the headboard of his bed, Draco tried his best to seem aloof over her presence. "Your facts might be a little jumbled. This isn't Nott's dormitory."

Taking a courageous breath in, Hermione still fiddled with a corner of Harry's cloak. "I'm aware of that," she said in a weak tone. "I...I came looking for you, actually."

"Is that so?" After her comment, it was hard not to show his surprise. But he also felt anger over it. There was no trouble displaying that. "Brought me a wedding invitation, did you?"

"Malfoy—"

"Or are you looking to have girl-talk about your fiancee with me? Has the She-Weasel and the rest of your lot had enough of your swooning? Surely there's someone in the castle dying to hear how Hermione Granger and Theodore Nott are smitten with one another."

"Malfoy—"

"You're not wearing the ring. What happened, little Gryffindor? Already fighting with your betrothed? You two were so snuggly today in class, certainly—"

"Malfoy, _shut up_!" Completely enraged—of course he'd make her feel that way—Hermione was tempted to whip her wand out and curse him to snap his mouth shut. "I'm not here to talk about Theo and I! I'm here for _you_, you bastard! I'm here to talk about us!"

Well, that certainly silenced him. It took two minutes of looking at one another, so many emotions from her and his all perfectly hid, before he decided to speak again. "There's no us," he said fluidly, icily. "You wasted your time coming here."

"Don't," Hermione breathed, looking up at him with narrowed eyes. "Don't do that, Malfoy. You know...Please just don't try and hurt me."

He frowned at her. "Yes, of course. I forgot I was the one avoiding you."

"It's hard," she screeched at him, looking thoroughly outraged, "and I'm terrified, Malfoy! I don't know what happened, what changed between us, but it _did_! And...And I had no idea what I felt for you, but the more I went without you..."

"Don't say it," he snapped at her. "Don't even fret about it, Hermione. I don't feel the same. _Nothing _changed."

He wanted to wound her. He wanted to cut her as much as she'd been cutting him. And she would've believed his cold words if it hadn't been for the vibrating magic between them and the flash of longing in his gaze. He was brilliant at staying behind his barriers of protection, but once in awhile, when she was lucky, she got to see him peek over them.

Knowing that Slytherins never hear words they don't want to, Hermione dropped the cloak and her wand on the ground beside his bed. Taking a deep breath, she climbed her way onto his mattress. On her knees, she slowly approached him. He was definitely taking a look behind his walls when his features grew nervous, especially when she placed her hands on his shoulders and dragged herself a little closer to him.

With a small smile, Hermione closed the distance between them and pressed her lips onto his. She had been completely determined to take them hostage; kiss him with as much rawness as she had the first time, but she wasn't allowed. When she started to turn her head to the side, started to part her lips to fully taste his mouth and tongue, she jolted and groaned with great discomfort.

"For fuck sakes, Hermione." Grabbing her by the shoulders, as she weakly leaned back, Malfoy cradled her in his arms. "You can't do that! Loyalty clause in your fucking marriage contract, remember?"

Hermione laughed. She laughed like it was the most amusing thing ever; like her bones didn't feel like they'd been stung by a cheap hex. It wasn't too painful, not enough to make her squirm and cry, but enough to distract her.

"What's so bloody funny?"

"You were about to kiss me back," she commented casually, laughter still underlying her words.

He didn't respond. He looked down at her, glaring.

Smiling at him, her shoulders still shaking from her giggles, Hermione leaned against his chest. He was holding her—he'd never so much as gave her a hug before. There was something about his arms, hard and muscled, like a protective cage. She found security in them, yet she felt trapped. It was like he didn't want to let her go, and she was perfectly okay with that. She'd stay trapped with him for ages if he wanted.

She could smell that fresh, minty, and masculine scent on him; one that she missed. It was coming from every corner: his sheets, the pillows behind him, the mattress, his clothes, his skin, his breath—it really was intoxicating.

"I knew it was going to happen," she muttered after a few silent moment. "I knew something was going to hit me as soon as I kissed you, but I didn't care. I wanted to. I wanted to kiss you."

Fluttering her eyelids open, Draco found that mesmerizing brown sparkling up at him. He swallowed a knot of wanton emotions. "Why are you here, Hermione?"

"Because," she continued to whisper, eyes filling with a few tears, "it's where I want to be...I need to be here."

"But Nott—"

"I don't like Theo," she cut him off. "Aren't you listening, Malfoy? _I want you_."

"Then why did you take his bloody ring? Why did you stop looking for a way out of the betrothal?!"

Tears fell. "I have my reasons," she told him with a pain in her chest. "I know...I know it's selfish of me, Malfoy. A part of me knows that I shouldn't be here, that I shouldn't mess with your head...or with my heart, really, but I don't want to keep hiding. Even if for a night...I just want to be here with you. I want to enjoy your silence and presence."

Closing his eyes with deep frustration, Draco pressed his forehead against hers. Without much fight to stay nonchalant, he found that his arms squeezed her tightly; flushing him more against his chest. He felt her warmth; her pure soul and golden heart.

"Why are you here?" He mumbled again, sounding deeply in pain.

"Because I miss you, Malfoy," she breathed in response.

He let out a strangled puff of air. "I don't know what happened," he began, sounding like he was fighting with himself to keep the words in. "But I _need _you to be here, Hermione. I don't want you to, but I can't help it. You've taken residence inside my head and you don't want to bloody come out."

"I've been trying to get you evicted from mine for a while now, too." She put a hand at the side of his face, gently running her fingertips along his jaw as she stared at him like she'd been bewitched. "But you're all I think about. I get so lost in my thoughts of you that I can't breathe sometimes."

His silver eyes opened again. "This is going to be a disaster, Hermione."

"Isn't it already?"

He snorted. "Leave it to a Gryffindor to be a martyr."

She pinched his chin in scolding. But before he could react, she said: "I want to stay here with you tonight."

He pulled his head away from hers to get a better look at her face. He wanted to find a bluff; he wanted to find her smirking, like she was toying with him, but there wasn't any. Her brown eyes were sincere, expecting, and her facial features were determined.

"You're aware I share the dormitory with your brother, right? He'll kill me if he sees you in my bed."

It was Hermione's turn to snort. "Since when does a Slytherin care about morals?"

His forehead creased a little as she pulled herself away from his arms. She hopped off his bed, kicking off her shoes and taking off the black coat she had on and throwing them on the ground next to the cloak she'd brought.

"You're keeping the jeans on, then?"

She scowled playfully at him as she reached for one of his hands and yanked. "You're not that lucky, Malfoy." She wasn't strong enough to make him get up from his four-poster, but she was happy that he obliged her intended action without question.

_Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom._

His heart was beating on overdrive. There she was, untucking his sheets and blankets from their place, fluffing pillows, all with the intent of staying with him in his bed. And there he was, staring at her with awe, chest filling up with the strangest sensations of feeling whole, feeling complete, when not an hour ago he was damning her existence.

But that's who they were, wasn't it? They were not simple. They weren't two people with neutral personalities—they were both bolts of petrifying thunder. They hated each other, accepted each other, annoyed each other, fancied each other; all in a repetitive cycle. They were destined to drive each other insane.

"You've more guts than I gave you credit for," muttered Draco as he climbed back onto his bed.

"I can be selfish too. Courage has nothing to do with it," she responded. She raised her wand, flicked it, and made the curtains of his four-poster close. She waved her wrist, sparkling jets of magic exiting from her wand as she muttered spells that would keep anyone away. She secured their little haven.

_Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom._

His heart didn't stop the embarrassing loud banging it was doing inside his chest as she went underneath his blankets, cuddling into his side. She pressed a kiss on his forehead, on his cheek, at the corner of his mouth, on his jaw, on his neck, on his collarbone, and then on his covered chest before she rested her head upon it.

She could sense his surprise, his timidness, but she felt so relieved when he eventually wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly. She felt protected all over again.

Tears prickled her eyes—she had spent weeks dodging him, when all along she needed to be right beside him. It was odd, unreal, but that's where her place was. It broke her heart to know that she was never going to end up there in the long run.

But for that moment, for that night, only they existed. For that night, they were together and nothing mattered. For that night, everything was finally as it should be.


	18. Alternate Perfection

**Lover of the Light**

**Chapter Seventeen: **Alternate Perfection**  
**

"Well, you're certainly all smiles."

Looking up from her Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook, Hermione met the eyes of her only roommate. She hadn't noticed when the latter had come in or—as she now paid attention to her surroundings—when the few others studying in the classroom had left. She just remembered sitting down, getting a quick greeting from a few of her classmates, and then time had stopped existing when she lost herself in her mind.

"I'm happy," informed Hermione to Parvati with a smile as she closed her textbook. "Is that so odd?"

The Gryffindor Patil twin grinned, putting her hands on her hips and looking all-knowingly at the brunette. "Yeah, it sort of is," she said truthfully. "You've been in such a disastrous mood for weeks, Hermione. I was close to asking McGonagall for a dormitory change."

Hermione rolled her eyes playfully. "Oh, I wasn't that bad."

"You were," advocated the other girl. "But whatever happened to you recently, _thank Merlin_ for it. I don't think I've seen you smile this way since Ron and Lavender broke up back in Sixth Year."

A glint of grief crossed Parvati's dark eyes at the mention of the deceased Lavender Brown. It truly pained Hermione to know that Parvati had lost her best friend in the war. Regardless of how annoying both girls were together, they were a symbol of true friendship and loyalty. If things would've ended bad, if Harry nor Ron had made it out of the war intact, Hermione knows that she'd never get over their loss and the hole they would've left. She sympathized with Parvati. And even though in previous years she'd never shared a proper conversation with the girl, she was glad that she got the chance to do that now. And both, despite of the past, shared the mourning over Lavender like all those they lost.

"It's a boy thing, isn't it?" Bringing Hermione back into the focus, away from the memories of war, Parvati kept that grin despite her brief sadness. "Did Nott finally do something right?"

Hermione coughed distractedly, picking up her schoolbag from the ground and putting it on her desk. "Why does Theo have to be involved?"

"Well, he _is _your boyfriend." Parvati didn't bother to hide the bewilderment in her voice or in her facial features. She removed her hands from her hips and crossed her arms over her chest. "Piss poor excuse of a boyfriend, if you ask me. Don't get me wrong, I don't want to get involved in your personal life or start rumours—"

"That's rich,"

"—but I really don't see why you're with him. I mean, he's a slimy Slytherin. And...You've not been happy once since you came out of the relationship-closet with him." A frown creased the dark-skinned girl's forehead. "Being in love with a boy, Hermione, is all butterflies and happiness and laughter."

Hermione stopped organizing the things inside her schoolbag. She felt a bolt of a realization kickstart her heart, but she forced herself to pull it down. She slowly turned to her roommate. "Love sometimes hurts, Parvati." It was a whisper that echoed throughout the lonely classroom. "Love is sometimes having to let go, even when you don't want to. Love is sometimes tears and pain and...Sometimes love is forbidden. It can't all be good."

Parvati gave a nod. "That may be so, but you're forgetting one important thing."

"And that is?"

"_Fate_," replied the other girl instantly, loudly. "Though I'm a preacher that love should always be magnificent and like a fairytale, I can't ignore that sometimes there's struggles to overcome. But you know what, Hermione? Love is fated. When two people are meant to be, despite the hardships, they'll be together. Even if you have to let go, if it's meant to be it'll come back and happen. There's no true tragedy there, is there?"

The brunette swallowed a knot of emotion. "The tragedy is that the loves that last forever are the ones that are impossible," she said quietly. "I think...The truth is that not many people get their happy ending."

"That's terribly gloomy," Parvati muttered, uncrossing her arms slowly. "If you think that way why are you still walking around holding Nott's hand? If he makes you that miserable I'd call it quits and tell the bloke an _'hasta luego'_, you know."

Despite the sudden miserable atmosphere, Hermione pushed herself through it to laugh. Choosing to stay there, Hermione shook her brown curls and refused to tell her fellow Gryffindor that it wasn't that simple; that her and Theo were going to be tied for life. But there wasn't a reason why she couldn't give her a hint of why that smile wouldn't come off her face for three days now. "What if I say it is a boy thing, but Theo has nothing to do with it? What would you think?"

"I'd think Hermione Granger has juicy gossip!" Parvati laughed. She was clapping her hands, looking completely eager and curious. "Whatever it is—_whoever_ it is—he's certainly something if he can make you glow the way you've been glowing these past couple of days."

Hermione smiled automatically.

"Just like that." Parvati sighed, her enthusiasm suddenly disappearing. "I'm dying to know who it is, alas I did promise Padma I'd stop pestering people for delicious information. So, I'm going to resist asking you—it's a new thing I'm trying."

"It's working wonders for you, Parv."

The Gryffindor stuck her tongue out at her roommate. "Anyway," she huffed with feigned disdain, "I was going to ask if you knew where my sister went off to, but I can see you were completely lost in your thoughts about Mystery Boy to even remember if she was in here."

Hermione flushed slightly. "I may have heard her talking with Seamus about checking out a book for a project they're working on. You might find them at the library."

"Maybe I'll just meet her tomorrow morning. I'm sure she's enjoying her one on one time with Finnegan." Waving a hand and winking an eye at her, Parvati quickly turned on her heels and headed out of the classroom with a round of giggles following after her.

Hermione laughed too as she heard her roommate's footsteps become lighter against the corridor floor. She turned back to her desk and her belongings. Opening the latch of her schoolbag once again, she absentmindedly began to organize her things to make room for her textbook and that smile—that smile that apparently was making her glow—came back on.

It was almost ironic that for the past few weeks she'd felt nothing short of miserable, seeing no way out of that life-sucking abyss she fell into by choice, but then she'd found a silver-lining in piercing, molten-metal eyes. Draco Malfoy's eyes to be exact. But not just his eyes, his everything too.

Being wrapped up in his arms was definitely _the _place to be. It was the place where she felt free—and she couldn't remember when was the last time something made her feel exactly that.

The Slytherin Prince was far from being the cuddly type, even she knew that, but she was left speechless for an hour when he did nothing but stroke her spine with gentle fingertips and her head laid on his chest. The silence had been deafening, but not uncomfortable while it lasted. They took those minutes and stretched them out to cover all the ones they'd lost over the past weeks. They enjoyed just feeling the other there, relishing in the moment that she was his and no one else's. Wrapped around each other became their favorite place to be.

She never thought she'd find that sort of comfort in Draco Malfoy, but she realized in that moment, when his hand left her back to run his fingers through her hair, that she was glad she made that discovery. She was elated that they allowed themselves that night...

A night that might be the only one they'll ever have.

They didn't get into the obvious fact that Hermione never mentioned absolving the acceptance of the betrothal and glue her determination on finding a way out of it. They never once brought up the fact that Theodore Nott was definitely the factor keeping them apart. It was the evident elephant in the room, one that was not easily ignored, but Hermione appreciated it to no end that Malfoy tried his best to pretend like it wasn't there. It wasn't fair of her to do that to him, but she let herself be completely selfish for that night. She wanted to only exist with him inside the curtains of his four-poster—nothing outside of that mattered.

Picking up her schoolbag and pulling the strap onto her shoulder, Hermione lost her smile for a moment. That night she refused to acknowledge that she was engaged, but in that moment she couldn't ignore it. During class hours she didn't wear the ring on her finger—she didn't want to start rumours that would be proven true in the long run—but instead she wore it on a silver chain around her neck. It was currently adding pressure to her chest, the weight of the problem she was carrying, and she couldn't help but to agree with what she'd told Parvati: some people don't get their happy ending.

So, she would marry. She would marry Theo and, best case scenario, he becomes a best friend that she spends the rest of her life with. She'll be secluded to him, the walls of a home they'd have to create with each other, and eventually start a family by force. They'd have a respectable marriage, friendly and affectionate, but not a loving one. Neither one of them would ever know true love and romance.

What happens to Malfoy then?

She was selfish enough that night to let him embrace her, to let herself have him, but she could not make him wait a lifetime. There was no way out of the betrothal anyway, not until death parted her and Theo after the vows were said. The gruesome reality was that Malfoy was going to have to move on with his life. And what if he fell in love? What if he fell in love, got married and had children? What if he got his happy ending and she remained destined to suffer him from afar?

Tears welled in her eyes as she exited the classroom. Before she could shed them, however, she was grabbed by the waist and practically slammed onto the corridor wall. Her schoolbag fell and thudded against the ground, her arms pinned to her sides, forbidding her from grabbing her wand from her robe-pocket. Screaming was her only option, and she was going to take it. But the second it took to part her lips, her body halted itself from the fight-or-flight instincts.

If the stormy eyes looking into her coffee-colored ones weren't anything to go by, her skin tingling with wonderful sensations and her heart, her blood vessels, and every atom of her being jolting alive with a certain electrical current that only one person created was enough to sedate her.

"You can't do that," berated the brunette with a weak whisper.

He smirked tauntingly, nudging her need to always be right. "I can do anything I want."

She had to gulp, pausing for a second to catch her breath. He was so close to her—pressed tightly into her that she could feel his heartbeat against her own chest. His arms were caging her in, his silver eyes glancing down at her, and his breath tickled her nose.

How could she even attempt to form any sentence with his proximity?

Removing his right palm from the corridor wall behind her, Malfoy used his fingers to caress the side of her face. He didn't speak, he just smirked with the clear indication that he knew how much he unsettled her. No one in history could claim that they could leave the Brightest Witch of the Age speechless, and as long as he had the chance, he would pride himself in it.

Dragging his index finger from her cheek, tracing her bottom lip, pulling it lightly down her chin, feathering a trail down her neck, the moment broke when he stopped at the chain around her neck.

She had been frozen with delight, appreciating the murmurs of desire he caused, but was yanked away from them when her heart abruptly stopped its drumming. "Malfoy," her low voice highlighted the pain she felt in that second.

He ignored her. His thumb and index finger worked to pull the necklace and expose the silver engagement ring Nott had given her. He knew it was there, he'd seen her fiddle with it on occasions when she thought no one was looking, but it still felt like a hex when he was that close to it. It was the symbol, despite her claims and his memory of her in his bed, that she wasn't his. The ring was the barricading block along the road of their progression as Draco and Hermione.

The ring meant that he was losing.

"Let's leave." Engulfing his palm around the offending object, squeezing tightly like he hoped his strength could turn it into dust and release her from her tie to it, Draco kept his penetrating gaze on her. "Let's run away together, Hermione, and never come back."

She was always the eloquent one, she spoke with words that were high and respected, filled with knowledge and fact—she just couldn't find them in that moment. Her jaw slackened, eyes widening and looking up at the Slytherin with surprised confusion.

Malfoy continued, stepping over her silence. "We can disappear forever, just you and I. We can find a remote location at the edge of the fucking planet and never think about any of this. You don't have to go through this—let's run away."

If that wasn't a concept that led to fairytale endings, Hermione didn't know what else could be. There he was, her Slytherin in Shining Armour, ready to rescue her from a lifetime of imprisonment and forced relationships and misery; ready to fly off with her into the setting sun to live on love and promises.

How she craved it. Quickly and blindly her feelings for him occurred—they were overriding everything logical and coherent. All she wanted was to allow herself to take his hand, throw caution to the wind, and see how far they could go without killing each other. All she wanted was to see how much they could feel without exploding; how long the passion and affection living in their bones for one another could keep them alive.

"...And then what?" But she was Hermione Granger and the side of her brain that was dominated by that part could not forget reality. And reality was that there was a magical contract that bound her to its context.

Managing to snake her right arm around his neck and using her left hand to cup his cheek, Hermione stared sadly at him. "How do we live? How do we get to be together if we can't...I can't kiss you. I can't do anything the clauses in the contract considers cheating. I will never be able to touch you. And the sooner the...the wedding date approaches, I'm not going to be able to be more than a few days away from Nott without feeling like I'm being tortured."

His hand went to clutch the one she had on his face. "Am I supposed to give you up, then?" He gripped her harshly, practically sinking his fingernails into her skin. "Am I just supposed to fucking forget the way I..."

Easily, like it was a talent, tears blurred him out of focus when he abruptly stopped.

The truth was _yes_—that was the answer to both his questions. He was supposed to give her up, and _yes_, he was supposed to forget the way he felt. They both did.

"I hate you."

After he broke the momentary silence, she followed to crush it by letting out a fragile, humorless chuckle at his frustration. "I know," she patted his cheek, "I would too."

Breathing in deeply, Malfoy squared off his shoulders and something tilted in his silvery gaze. They'd been dark before, like a brewing storm in the middle of an opaque day, but now they were bright; like the moon on a perfect night.

"You keep calling me Hermione," she muttered to him as he took his time to just gaze at her, both his hands resting on her waist now. "It's strange."

"It's your name, isn't it?"

She frowned a little at his condescending tone. "I'm just curious as to why I stopped being Granger."

A struggle to become blank took over his expression. "If I stick to last-name basis I'd have to call you _Nott _one day. Hermione is eternal. That'll never change."

Her eyes closed, fighting off the tears that wanted to fall and trace down her cheeks. Like he'd done previously, she took a deep breath and tried to collect herself from the powerful emotions that were trying to break her at the same time they were trying to inspire her with blissful new chances.

Resting her forehead against his chest, waiting as his arms went to embrace her, she inhaled him in. "'All my heart is yours, sir'," she murmured, hoping he'd realized what she was quoting and how sincere it was. "'It belongs to you; and with you it would remain were fate to exile the rest of me from your presence forever.'"

**X**

It was an addiction.

It was a bloody addiction and he didn't care that he was hooked. He didn't care that there was no letting go, that he was going to keep coming back for more and more, or that sooner rather than later his entire being was going to depend on it and nothing else was going to satisfy his hunger for it. He didn't care that he shouldn't be, that it was bad for him, that it was going to destroy him and cut him up. He didn't care that it was forbidden, that it was a sin for consuming something that had the capacity of being lethal and that wasn't his.

He didn't care that he was damned—Granger was worth the addiction and the corruption of his previously withdrawn soul.

He knew that he needed to stay away from her. He knew that there was no changing her mind, that she refused to take off the fucking engagement ring, but Draco could not stop himself from gravitating towards her. She was light and he'd spent too much time in the darkness to go back to the shadows once he got a taste of the sun. He needed her magnitude, her radiance, and he was going to bathe in it every second that it presented itself to him.

When Saturday morning came, all eligible students hurrying off to escape the castle and head to Hogsmeade for a change of scenery, both Draco and Hermione found themselves—coincidentally, if anyone was to ask—the only two students on the last carriage ride and steep pathway towards the village. After they'd gotten off, finding the road secluded, their hands had clasped automatically and they'd proceeded to walk like the world was at their disposal; like they could conquer it together.

Mindless chatter happened between the two, finding that their pace was uncharacteristically slow and sluggish. There hadn't been a reason to voice the obvious; they were determined to make their time together last as much as possible. They just wanted to appraise the sensations of growing more attached, of feeling high, and of things being in the place they needed to be for another moment of stolen time. Happiness came like powerful waves in the way they bickered—Divination _was _a foolish subject, and no, she didn't preach that because her crystal balls held nothing but fog—in the way they laughed—it _was _hysterical that Cho Chang's little sister punched Blaise on the face—and in the way their sides molded into each other and connected like puzzle pieces.

He knew then and there that he'd follow her anywhere. He knew then and there that he wanted nothing more than to have her. He wanted to fight for her, keep her for the rest of his days.

There never was a time when he thought he'd get to feel those cliche feelings he and the Slytherins mocked the other openly-affectionate Houses of experiencing and showing. He knew he was going to share his life with somebody, all distinguished pureblood heirs had a betrothed before birth, but he'd known that he would never get romance. He'd have a wife to pop out children, to continue the legacy, and that was it. But then Granger—_Hermione_—reappeared in his life and she made him see that anything was possible. She made him think that those cliche endings in nauseating romance novels weren't so terrible.

She made him want them.

If he had to succumb himself in opening his heart, sharing his life with someone by will, he wanted it to be with her. Draco didn't trust anyone, didn't allow anyone a glimpse inside to see the truly vulnerable angles to him, but he knew that Hermione was the best vault in the world to deposit those vulnerabilities. If he had to be weak, he'd be weak with her; she'd be the only one strong enough to build him up again. She was the only one willing to see the light in him despite of the wrong he'd done.

He honestly didn't know how he was going to let her go...

After walking several yards, stretching them like they'd been miles, their hands had released when they entered the busy village and they were forced to be nothing in front of the public.

The previous night, when they'd hid from the world inside the castle, she'd informed him of Allegra's request to meet in Hogsmeade. He'd just nodded impassively when she spoke, too concentrated on playing with one of her curls, but she'd smacked him roughly on the chest and demanded to know if he was willing to accompany her or not. Shamefully, for how fast he responded, Draco jumped on board in order to have her for another moment.

It'd seemed like a good plan then, sneaking around to share some time together, holding hands, just having her close, but then the good plan was throttled by something unexpected. They had been on their way to the Three Broomsticks, the entrance so close, but the Gryffindor had spotted a redhead before they got to their destination.

The look of utter happiness that broke out across her face just added weight to the dread Draco was feeling. He approached with her, too proud to run, yet too much of a coward to do so also. And when two distinct pair of eyes—both haunting for different reasons—looked up at him and Hermione, Draco felt like he'd been punched across the face repeatedly.

"George!" Hermione squealed with delight. "What are you doing here?" She left Malfoy's side, practically skipping over to hug the tall redhead.

A little put off, like people were used to seeing him since the war ended, George Weasley managed to put on a smile for the brunette and return her embrace. "Lovely seeing you here, Hermione. I figured you'd take the chance of a quiet castle to do some coursework."

Hermione rolled her eyes at the redhead and turned to the person next to him. With a smile, she knelt down and became eye-level with his company. "Hello, love."

With a glittering smile, one that was immediate, Teddy Lupin pulled his hand away from George's and opened his arms to Hermione. He made loud noises of approval, showing that he'd made the connection of who she was.

In one swift movement, Hermione swooped Teddy into her arms and lifted him up from his tiny feet. She hugged him tightly and then proceeded to press kisses on his chubby cheeks.

Baby giggles broke out between the little group as one year-old Teddy Lupin was lovingly attacked by the Gryffindor Princess. Both George and Malfoy stared at her with a certain awe; both a little enthralled by the way a glow wrapped around her and the infant. It was like they were source of light, like love existed and the grey day was shut away from them.

It's what innocence looked like.

"Why are you with Teddy?" Halting her spread of kisses on Teddy's face, Hermione turned to the redhead. "You're not the babysitting type—nor are you the babysitter anyone would consider leaving their kids with."

George stuck his tongue out at the brunette. "Mum was supposed to take care of the little lad, but Fleur had an appointment with a Healer today and Mum invited herself along. She's betting that Fleur's pregnant, but we keep telling her it was the casserole Muriel brought over for Christmas dinner that has her nauseated."

"That doesn't explain why you're here. Did you not open the shop today?"

The older wizard frowned. "What's with the questions, Granger? Can't a bloke come to Hogsmeade?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, lifting a brow.

Knowing perfectly well that nothing ever got over her, George sighed in resignation. "Okay, okay. I came to find Harry so he can take care of Teddy for a few hours. I've got a...I'm supposed to meet up with Angelina and there's things I don't want to discuss in front of a baby."

"You've got a date with Angelina Johnson? That's great, George!"

George almost face-palmed himself. "Shut it," he huffed. He knew people would jump to that conclusion, but Angelina and him shared the same mourning. They just understood each other. "Anyway, if I don't find Harry I won't be—"

"I can take him."

With unamused eyes, the redhead shifted them between Hermione, Teddy, to the momentarily-ignored Slytherin standing beside her. "I don't think that's a good idea, Hermione."

"Why not?" A scowl dented the girl's expression.

Sighing, George let it go. There was no need to bring up the very _obvious_ fact that little Teddy and Malfoy were related and that the latter had a history of condemning those not of pureblood descent. Then again, if his memory served him, Ginny had gone on and on during the holidays about Ferret Boy being surprisingly neutral about everything nowadays.

Maybe he'd give the Slytherin the benefit of the doubt.

"Meet me in Zonko's in two hours, then," George told Hermione.

As the familiars exchanged their goodbyes, Draco kept his gaze focused on the toddler glued to Hermione's hip. He'd felt slightly uneasy with George Weasley, seeing as the poor bastard had lost his twin brother in the war, that he had the right to hate him for being a part of the group that killed his twin, but that hadn't been the worst part. The worst part had been looking directly into the grey eyes of Teddy Lupin and knowing that his short life was already clouded by tragedy. A tragedy he was a part of.

That little boy was Nymphadora Tonks and Remus Lupin's son—he was Draco's family. And even though he was a child, even though he didn't expect him to connect the complicated dots, Draco knew that he'd never really know that they _were _related. They shared blood, they shared ancestors, history, and yet they were still strangers. They would always be.

Draco's guts twisted with shame, with guilt, with repentance and with sympathy. He looked at the little boy and couldn't help but to feel a sense of responsibility. His conscience woke from the slumber he forced it to go into so he didn't have to think of the loose ends that still needed fixing and now it was screaming at him. It demanded action.

"Malfoy?" Giving his head a slight shake, Draco blinked a few times and found Hermione staring at him quizzically. "Are you okay?"

They were inside the Three Broomsticks now. He hadn't noticed when they'd begun to move, but his senses were now buzzing with the chatter inside the pub, the smell of food and Butterbeer, and he could see the people in the background.

At his silence, a frown appeared on Hermione's face. "You're not bothered by Teddy, are you?"

Draco was not given a chance to answer when he heard their names being called from a table a few yards from them. Taking the chance, since he really didn't know how he was going to begin to explain what he was feeling over the presence of his dead cousin's son, he proceeded to place a hand on the small of her back and silently lead her towards the table.

"_Ciao, tesoro_." With a bright smile, Allegra Zabini stood from her chair. She looked ready to embrace her daughter, but she paused when she noticed the child in her arms. "Oh, and who's this?"

As Hermione presented a suddenly shy Teddy to Mrs. Zabini, Draco's attention went to his mother. The woman had had a polite smile on her face when she saw them approach, but when she had noticed the baby she went rigid. Her slightly warm exterior went blank, and Draco knew perfectly well that she was hiding her emotions. She would've succeeded in passing as indifferent—but there was a glimmer in her eyes that was almost similar to the remorse he was feeling.

"That _bambino _brings out a sparkle from you, Hermione," commented Allegra with a smile as they all settled into their seats.

Hermione smiled in return, carefully bouncing Teddy on her lap. "You think so?"

Mrs. Zabini nodded at her daughter. "It means you'll be an excellent mother one day."

Draco automatically tensed and his hands balled into fists underneath the table. For the moment he forgot about his family-oriented demons and instead let the addicted monster in him rage and thrash inside his chest. She wasn't his—how could he forget that? How could he forget that she was destined for another and with that obligation came the entire package of a life he wanted with her.

Hermione would one day make a fantastic mother, everyone was bloody sure of that by the way she coddled and protected—the devastation was that she was going to be the mother to _Theodore Nott's_ children. And that, that he couldn't be around to see.

**X**

She didn't know about the exterior, but Hermione could feel herself glowing from the inside.

Tingles of utter joy ran up and down like streams from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. She felt light, like she was walking on clouds and about to set off in a flight towards the sky. There was a smile on her face that'd been stretching her lips for the past hour and a half; making her remember what it was to be that delighted with life.

Though she'd made peace about being a Zabini weeks ago, Hermione never really thought that she'd ever sit down with Mrs. Zabini and actually enjoy the time spent together. She found herself smiling when the woman spoke, laughing when something comical came up in conversation, and Hermione found a longing to finally get to know Allegra as a maternal figure and a person.

Allegra had sparkled like a diamond as well, true happiness stretching every millimeter of her gorgeous face when she saw the clear acceptance and comfort from Hermione's part; and she wasn't the only one captivated by the light wrapping around them.

More controlled and less expressive, Mrs. Malfoy had also exchanged smiles and pleasant conversation with the brunette. She interacted in the conversation when she thought was appropriate and answered the questions Hermione had. And though there was a wall of history keeping those two apart—a somewhat flimsy one now—Narcissa felt pride in calling the girl her goddaughter. There could be, if worked and treated carefully, a road to a friendly relationship between the two in the time to come.

Being the keen observer that she was, Hermione noticed Malfoy withdraw into himself and all his walls of defense come up to block him throughout the start of the interaction. There hadn't been much she found that she could do to knock on one of the walls and hope that he'd come out from behind them without giving their mothers an insight of what was really going on between them. As slyly as she could, at a point during the conversation of Blaise being attacked by a Third Year earlier that week, Hermione slithered her hand underneath the table and clutched onto Malfoy's left fist.

After a few minutes, he expanded his palm and their fingers had twined together. It didn't take long after that for a dim smile to appear at the corner of his mouth and for him to add to the conversation.

The time that followed ran in a smooth course: they ordered food and drinks, ate while laughing, Allegra and Draco toasted over Blaise finally getting put into his place for running his mouth, Hermione had been invited over to Malfoy Manor to see the Hawthorn tree Narcissa planted, Teddy had gotten tired of being on Hermione's lap and went from one person to another, the matriarchs of the Zabini and Malfoy clans proposed that both families went to Greece for the Easter holidays, and a few personal anecdotes were shared.

By the time Allegra and Narcissa bid their farewells, everything felt like they were inside an alternate universe. Everything was bright, glittering, and felt like marshmallow at the fingertips. It was like they slipped into a dream.

And what had made it better, though she reckoned she wasn't meant to see that bit, was Mrs. Malfoy's nostalgic and secretive embrace she'd given the baby in the group while she thought no one was looking. It had warmed Hermione's heart as much as it had filled her with hope for the Malfoy family as a whole.

"More! More!"

With the beautifully jubilant atmosphere surrounding the village, Hermione laughed wholeheartedly and added to the lively wind as she looked at little Teddy demanding another piece of Chocolate Frog. Both sat on a bench outside of Honeydukes, Malfoy squatting before them as he held the bag of sweets they'd gotten from the shop. All purchased by the Slytherin, three galleons worth, and more than half for Teddy—all except for the package of Licorice Wands he'd gotten for Hermione. (That almost made her snog him senseless in the middle of the shop.)

"You're going to be on an extreme sugar-rush, kid," said Malfoy with a crooked grin as he tore off a leg from the Chocolate Frog. "Don't blame me after."

Cooing happily at the chocolate piece, Teddy stuffed it into his mouth and began his process of first sucking on it, making it melt and rim his mouth messily, and then chewing on what remained solid.

If she ever snorted in distaste at the witches that stared at their crushes with unashamed doting eyes, Hermione was certainly a hypocrite then and there. She watched the interaction between the two, and every time her gaze landed on Malfoy she could feel the affection she felt for him shooting out and calling for his attention. It was on display, out in the open for the world to see, and she wasn't apologetic of it. There was something beautiful about him, and not just those profound silver eyes, sharp features, tousled white-blonde hair and toned body, but what was _inside _of him.

She knew he didn't think much about himself, that he still continued to live in the guilt and regrets of who he was pre-war, and she wanted nothing more than to tell him he was wrong. Who he was—that arrogant, prejudice bastard—was nothing to who he was becoming and the potential of who he could be. Once he dropped the venomous notions, once he saw that all blood soaked red and no race was mightier than the latter, Hope followed after him like a shadow with promises of a better future. If he worked hard at it, if he allowed the dreary light from within him to shine to its maximum capacity, then he would see miracles happen.

Teddy was going to be the starting-point of that process.

"You're good with him," whispered Hermione as Malfoy was blackmailed by the toddler's giggles for another piece of chocolate.

Looking away from the blue-haired boy, the blonde eyed the brunette carefully. "Anyone that can control someone else with chocolate seems good. The stuff's addicting."

He was trying to fight away the sincerity of the subject at hand, but Hermione never gave up on a challenge without pushing it to its limit. "What do you feel when you look at him?" She asked him with a steady voice, determination in her gaze. "Because I see hope in you, Malfoy."

Draco was ready to dismiss the topic, he didn't want to get into touchy matters in the middle of the busy Hogsmeade street, but he also knew his Gryffindor. She'd pester and demand until he gave in. The day was going perfectly to ruin it with his automatic need to shut the world away.

"Aside from my parents," he began in a hushed tone, a little cold for his defense, "Teddy and my Aunt Andromeda are the only family I've got left. And the fact that we're separated by decades of hate, that despite our blood-ties we're strangers...that's pretty grim."

She extended a hand out to him, waiting almost half a minute before he decided to extend his own and for both to clasp around each other. "It's terrible," she whispered in response, "but not broken. Don't think for a second that Andromeda isn't aware that the Malfoys are her only family. If...If there was an opportunity, a _sincere _chance to make things right, you'd be surprised of the outcome."

"You have high hopes in the world and in me, Hermione." Despite the blank gaze he had on her, Malfoy squeezed Hermione's fingers. "What if you're wrong?"

Not caring that she was in public, not caring that she had an image to uphold, Hermione did the only thing she was allowed to do without getting shocked by the obligations of a marriage contract. She rose their clasped hands to her mouth and pressed two kisses over his knuckles. "My judgment is unquestionable, Malfoy. I know because I know."

If it hadn't been for the same reasons that held her back from capturing his lips in a passionate kiss, Draco knew he would've forgoed the passing people and just snogged her until she was putty in his hands. He gave her a smile, dropping his barriers, and exposed the genuine affection and admiration he felt for her.

"—Oi!"

Intruding into the bubble of perfect fantasy that had formed around Draco and Hermione, both were equally as surprised when a group of six headed their way: two with smiles, Ginny and Luna; one with conflict burning in his gaze, Harry; two with neutral expressions, Ron and Pansy; and one very annoyed Blaise.

"Where the hell were you?! We were supposed to meet with Allegra in the Three Broomsticks twenty minutes ago!"

Shooting Blaise a fearing scowl, Hermione said, "watch your language, Blaise. Secondly, the meeting with Allegra was almost two hours ago. You were late—as usual."

"Of course I was bloody late! I had an entire pack of Ravenclaws to hex to restore my reputation! I couldn't just show up to Hogsmeade after that girl punched me on the face, could I?"

_Smack._

"Maybe if you didn't open your mouth and spew exaggerations, Zabini, you wouldn't have gotten punched," snapped Ginny, though there was a glimmer of smugness in her brown orbs. "And watch your mouth, there's a baby present."

Throwing Ginny a grateful smile for the hit she gave her half-brother on the head, Hermione and the others became silent as Malfoy stood in his full height and Harry approached the bench. Her best friend extended his arms forward, the air filling with laughter and squeals when the baby recognized Harry, and he gathered his godson into his arms.

Tension was high as Harry and Malfoy eyed each other, expressions void of any revealing emotion, both momentarily ignoring the happily squirmy boy caught in the middle of the stance. A long moment passed where one could assume that Harry was about to protest the Slytherin's closeness to Teddy or that Malfoy was going to fight back, but none of that came. Forming more of that alternate universe Hermione was sure she was in, Harry handed Teddy over to Malfoy so he could stick a hand in his left pocket.

"He's a messy eater," stated Harry with a casualness that made Hermione, Ginny and Ron gape at each other, "and you'll be surprised how fast that sticks to him." Pulling out a napkin, focusing his emerald gaze on it, thinking of a nonverbal to dampen it, he handed it to his childhood nemesis.

As Malfoy gave Harry a nod, proceeding to wipe the chocolate off of Teddy's cheeks and chin, Hermione felt her contagious smile spread on her lips and pass on to Ginny and Luna.

"We're supposed to take him to Zonko's," she explained. "George said he was going to pick him up there. Care to join us?"

"He didn't really hex any Ravenclaws, you know," Luna informed Hermione in her whimsical voice as she and the others proceeded in the direction of the joke shop. "He tried dueling Michael Corner, but I saved him after he got turned into a rat."

"Shut it, Loony," snapped Blaise at the girl as Ginny, Ron, and Pansy snickered at his expense.

Ginny scowled at the dark-skinned Slytherin now. "Oi, watch it. You owe her your life, Zabini. The Ravenclaws were ready to feed you to the Hippogriffs."

"When the hell did Ravenclaws become so sadistic?" Ignoring the She-Weasel, Blaise frowned at his half-sister as he expected her to have an answer. "That entire House is out to murder me, Hermione!"

"You shouldn't have told the entire castle that you slept with Cho Chang!"

"I never said I shagged Chang!"

After the exchange between brother and sister, Pansy huffed. "You wrote it on the wall of the boys' lavatory, Zabini. Ron told me."

"Don't look at me like that," Blaise hissed at his sister as she scowled in her parental attitude, "they read it wrong! I clearly wrote that I _snogged _her! And, you—" he turned to his house-mate and the Gryffindor Sidekick, "since when is the Weasel Ron? Are you two lovers now?"

Pansy raised her chin, focusing her gaze on the road ahead while Ron coughed lightly, looking at his shoes as he hoped he didn't look nervous.

"We're not talking about Parkinson and Ron," began Ginny, "we're talking about how you're going to end up hanging from a post by your knickers, Zabini. If you don't apologize to Cho, the rest of the year is going to be painful for you."

Groaning, Blaise tossed an arm around Luna's shoulder and leaned his head against the top of hers. "Lovegood," he whined, "can't you make it go away? I'll hold you in high regards if you do. I'll even throw in one of my famous snogs, free of charge."

As Luna wrapped her arm around her brother's waist, Hermione found herself looking at the side of her where Malfoy, Harry and Teddy were. Her heart leaped as she saw both Slytherin Prince and the Chosen One struggling to clean Teddy's face. If there was anything good, anything new and pure that could make those two find a territory of neutrality to coexist without the shadowings of their loathsome past, it was in the child. He was Harry's love and loyalty, his grief for the lost Tonks and Remus, and he was Malfoy's chance to turn things around.

Three feet away from Zonko's, Hermione stopped in her path when she noticed a crack in her alternate universe.

With crossed arms, hands shaking at his sides, Theodore Nott clenched his jaw at the two Hufflepuffs impeding his path. Susan Bones was holding on to Zacharias Smith's hand, trying to pull him away from the danger zone, but the latter kept shouting; deep-rooted resentment in his blue eyes as they looked at the Slytherin.

Hermione couldn't tell what they were arguing about, just that it was a fraction of a time from turning physical. She could see the pain written all over Theo's face, but she saw the equal amount of restraint it was taking him not to smash one of his fists onto the Hufflepuff's face. Susan looked thoroughly terrified, yet sympathetic and outraged all in one.

She wanted to step forward, walk to them, they were so near, but she knew if she would she'd lose all the magic her day had held. She didn't want to cross the line back to the reality. She loved the parallel universe she created in Malfoy's company: she enjoyed watching his light, seeing him interact with her biological mother, his mother accepting her, their friends getting on—she didn't want to quit that. Just like she'd given herself that night in Malfoy's arms, she wanted to give herself that entire day where everything began and ended perfectly.

She didn't want Theodore Nott and their betrothal to exist in that hour.

Every moment was golden; she knew that just as much as she knew that enchantment could easily be broken by an unexpected occurrence. And the break to her blissful fantasy didn't come from assisting her future husband in the brawl he was in, but instead it came in the form of a jet of light skimming her shoulder and blasting one of the windows of a nearby shop.

_Aria._

No attention was given to the sting in her shoulder. Hermione spun around as the people of the village froze and met the eyes of the hooded figure that had not forgotten about her all this time.

_Aria._

The voice penetrating her mind echoed in painful waves; tempting her to clutch onto her head and scream at the discomfort. She would've done so, she would've given into the pain, but another jet of light shot out from her attacker's wand and she barely managed to duck and evade it.

Panic broke out in the street of Hogsmeade.

"_Stupefy_!" Jumping back to full height, Hermione shot her own curse and didn't wait to see if the hooded figure got hit by it. She turned as quickly as she could, ignoring the throbbing of the invasion going on in her head and ran.

Ginny, Blaise, Luna and Parkinson turned in the moment that people started shouting, shuffling, and the street became chaotic. Ginny's eyes widened, Blaise looked utterly terrified, Luna looked up to the sky, and Parkinson fumbled for her wand inside the bag hanging from her shoulder. Any of the four would've been ideal to stop the single attacker that was after Hermione—but one hooded figure had turned into a dozen.

In a flash of red light, Parkinson flew back and into a group of their classmates; Luna shot out a Shield Charm to the attacker apparating from the sky, making him bounce off the roof of a shop; Ginny ducked and missed the curse heading her way; and Blaise's emerald eyes darkened in color and he charged forward to duel his way towards his sister.

"_Reducto_!"

Hermione fell onto her hands and knees when the wall of a shop exploded and shards of brick and glass flew out in different directions.

Spinning into an angle, Hermione pointed her wand to a hooded figure and shouted, "_Expelliarmus_!"

The spell was easily deflected.

Scurrying back onto her feet, Hermione ran forward; forgetting about the attacks from behind her as she managed to get a glimpse through the herd of people of Blaise getting disarmed. She knew of too many cases that ended in death with that action and she was not going to let her brother become one.

With an excellent stunning spell, Luna turned right on time to see Zabini land on his side. A hooded figure had his wand pointed at his face and the tell-tale sign of a green light was ready to spew out from the attacker's wand. "—_Confringo_!"

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief when Luna saved Blaise from being murdered. She managed to see the Ravenclaw extend her hand out to the Slytherin, him taking it, and both standing back by back and ready to defend and fight.

_Aria._

Cringing at that haunting voice booming in her eardrums, Hermione sagged slightly in her run when she finally caught sight of Harry, Ron and Malfoy exiting Zonko's. Confusion, fear, and panic was spread equally among the three.

"—_Stupefy!"_

"It took you bloody long enough!" Jumping back onto her feet as her attacker flew yards away and through a window, Ginny looked murderously at her boyfriend after he saved her life.

"Pansy!" Squinting through the running people, Ron called out for the Slytherin witch. "Where's Pansy?!"

It was all hectic. It was all fast, dizzying, and at the same time painfully slow. Hermione dodged out of the way of streams of spells, flying fragments of glass and shards of walls, and didn't give in to the horrid voice banging at the walls of her head. She met the silver eyes of Draco Malfoy, instant relief filling them when he saw her running to him—but then she was on fire.

A gut-wrenching shriek passed her lips when her insides went ablaze and the intruding voice in her mind mixed to give her an outrageous amount of agony. She landed on her front, but by the flames that were consuming her from the inside, she tossed herself in a single jerk onto her back. She arched upwards, screaming at the fire, screaming at the voice, and by the spear of glass that punctured the middle of her back.

_Aria._

Purple light, purple light, purple light. That's what was setting her on fire, what was turning up the heat of the flames and turning her bones into ash.

Screams. Screams. Screams.

She tried to turn herself over; she tried to find her palms and knees through the flames and crawl her way out of it. She only managed to roll over onto her stomach. Another booming sob escaped her lips when another chunk of glass stabbed her hip.

Ginny and Harry were dueling three hooded figures; Blaise was on an attacker's back, his fist banging on his head; Luna was secluded to a corner, Protego Charm up to bounce off the hexes being thrown at her; Ron was nowhere in sight; and Malfoy was roaring as he shot out curse after curse, trying with desperation to get to her.

_You're time is up, Aria._

Through her tears, just as the Slytherin Prince managed to get several yards closer to her after hexing his opponent, their eyes met for a single moment of time. His grey eyes were filled with mortification, agony, and rage; tears glazing them over with fear.

He was beautiful and human—she couldn't help but to think that in that second.

Their connection broke when fingers snaked into her brown curls and pulled her up.

"HERMIONE!"

"DRACO!"

Their voices were the last thing they heard from one another when a _crack _hauntingly echoed through the village and she felt the sensations of side-along apparition take her far away from him and the perfect world they had created for a day.


	19. Old Wars

**Lover of the Light**

**Chapter Eighteen: **Old Wars**  
**

The world was off.

The day had started off in bright colors for everyone. It poured through their windows, poking them awake with a heated flash of whitish-yellow, powerful and directly from the sun glowing outside. The sky had been blue, blue, blue—decorated with thick, fluffy cotton-balls as clouds. The trees had been green, green, green; along with the grass, the hills, bushes and the vines. Some flowers bloomed in reds, pinks, yellows, whites, purples, while others were beginning to bud. The snow had melted and the cobbled streets stood out more than before. Spring was approaching and it made people start bringing out vibrant colors in their wardrobes.

Color had been all around them. Not just by the actual hues of the scenery, but in the way they had been feeling that day. It was a light atmosphere: content, satisfied, overjoyed, grateful, tingly. It had been a day of peace.

But then threatening, black wind came and dropped shadows of destruction on everything they'd been enjoying. It took away their color. It took away all the mesmerizing shades, all the blissful emotions, and it painted it all red.

Red with frustration. Red with anger. Red with misery. Red with suspicion.

The world was off because a key piece was missing.

"This has been happening for _months_?!" The roar of indignation mixing with fury echoed off the great and ancient walls of the office that belonged to Headmistress McGonagall. "For months she's been getting attacked and threatened and no one said anything?!"

"Mister Potter," spoke the Headmistress with as much care and patience that was needed to cool the hot-head the Chosen One was known for. "There was nothing that could've been done to help protect Miss Granger if she didn't earlier reveal any of this to the right people. Since her attack inside this castle I've upped the security within the walls and the staff did double rounds. Nothing was out of place. We did all in our power to protect her."

Harry frowned at the old professor. "Then you didn't do a good enough job, Headmistress!" He loathed the way she sounded like Dumbledore; both so assured that the castle was the safest place in the world. There had been times when he'd believed that himself, but something always happened to contradict that claim of protection. Something always came back to remind him that peace wasn't everlasting. And it was always someone he loved that set the example."_Hermione was taken_!"

From their places behind the Boy-Who-Lived, four other boys cringed at the latter's previous exclaim of the ugly reality they couldn't yet believe. Hermione had been taken. She was gone.

"I do not control what happens in Hogsmeade," stated McGonagall with a shrill, offended tone. She held Hermione in high regards, adored the girl silently as it was in her nature, and was equally as concerned as all of them. That wasn't wavering, she just didn't have the answers he wanted to hear. "Whoever attacked the village had to be separate from the attack she suffered in Hogwarts months ago, Mister Potter."

"A case should've been opened! You should've reported this to—"

"It was reported." Looking up from a patch of marble flooring, Draco Malfoy stared directly into the unstable, bespectacled eyes of his childhood nemesis. Not only was Potter looking back at him with wild, questioning eyes, but the Headmistress herself stopped looking so composed. "There was another attack one evening during the holidays," he explained with no emotion at all, "right before Christmas. We were in America, shopping in a wizardying location when the store started coming down. She was struck with the Sectumsempra spell and almost didn't make it. The Zabinis reported it to the Ministry and a case was opened."

The Headmistress frowned hauntingly at the Slytherin. "The Minister would've reported to me that my student—"

"Is that why she'd gone off our radar?" Harry was adding up the pieces of his memory, remembering the two weeks that Hermione had stopped responding to their letters and left no trace until she showed up at the Borrow Christmas morning. "You said it happened just once before, not that time too, Malfoy! Why the hell didn't you say anything?!"

"Like you don't know Hermione!" hissed the Slytherin right back. "She asked me not to the time I managed to fend off her attacker, and the last time was all _her _choice. If she didn't want you or Weasley to know then she had her reasons for it!"

"Brilliant reasons, aren't they?!" Harry stalked towards the blonde, eyes full of hate. "You could've done something, Malfoy! From the beginning you could've helped save her! It's your fault she's gone!"

It was quick, it happened in a blink of an eye, but it was seen coming by everyone inside that office right when Harry had marched forward. Draco tore himself away from his own spot, meeting the Gryffindor in the middle with forceful strides. His wand had been whipped out, pointed at Potter's face, and the same hate was in his silver eyes.

Malfoy was shaking in his stance. The grip on his wand was tight, making his knuckles pop sharply from underneath his skin. His teeth were bared, free hand balled into a fist, and he had the Killing Curse at the tip of his tongue. He wanted to shout it, make the famous green light wrap around Boy Wonder and end him. He wanted to kill him. He wanted to kill Potter for ever insinuating that he hadn't wanted to protect Hermione.

She was his; he protected all that was valuable to him.

"It's not his fault." Breaking the lethal moment between the two enemies, Ron uncharacteristically stood between his best friend and the Slytherin to purposely end the feud. "He's right, Harry; we _do _know Hermione. She had the chance to tell us from the get-go and she chose not to. We can't blame Malfoy for her choice."

"He could've told—"

"Yeah, and if the situation was reversed we would've told him?" Ron snorted at his best friend, pushing him a careful step back as he wedged a bigger gap between the two infuriated boys. "He didn't owe us an explanation, Harry. His loyalty is with the Zabinis and Hermione, not with us. He trusts Hermione's judgment as we do."

Harry frowned at Ron and Malfoy's direction, but then quickly turned back to the elder witch. "Something isn't right here, Headmistress. None of her attacks were coincidences and done by different people. Someone inside the castle is responsible. Someone _wanted _her gone!"

McGonagall took a deep breath, mainly to calm herself. "I will not suspect any of my students, Mister Potter. It's preposterous. No one here could've possibly wanted to hurt Miss Granger."

Harry was about to tell her that the benefit of the doubt she gave the student population was idiotic. Hadn't he confessed his suspicious of Malfoy's vile doings to her Sixth Year? She and Snape had looked down at him for accusing his well-known childhood nemesis, but he'd been right then like he was certain he was right now. He didn't care that Malfoy was present, he was about to remind her of that memory, but then someone else spoke and the chance was gone.

"I blame Nott." With both his palms clenched into fists, controlling his anger since his worry and fear outweighed it, Zabini narrowed his eyes into slits at the direction of the absolutely silent Slytherin a few feet from him. "He's involved."

Seven seconds ticked as the words dug into the eardrums of everyone present.

"What?" Theodore Nott was no longer silent. He turned to face his classmate. The emotion in his dark eyes changed in the course of a rapid moment: perplexed, processing, outraged, and then completely set off. "_What did you say_?!"

Being the only one surprisingly alert and somehow level-headed, Ron tossed himself in the middle of Nott's furious path towards Zabini. He gripped the dark haired Slytherin, pinning his arms to his sides, and used most of his strength to keep him back and from attacking with his bare hands.

Nott struggled, refusing to let himself be settled as he thrashed and growled at Zabini. He was going to punch him into a bloody pulp. He wasn't going to get away with his remarks this time; not when it weighed that much.

Blaise stood firmly in his spot, unmoved by Nott's clear fury or the threat he might present to him. He glared right back, hatred and mistrust in his green eyes. "You heard me. You have something to do with this, _I know it_. You're the only one in the castle that benefits from her disappearance!"

"Fuck you!" Nott roared, shocking the others in the office with how raw it echoed off the walls. He thrashed against the redhead again, trying to free himself. "I would never purposely hurt her! I love her!"

Draco sneered at his fellow Slytherin. The hold on his wand went into a tight grip again.

"She's my friend!" Nott continued to shout. "If anyone was to hurt her here it's Weasley!"

Ron stopped trying to control Nott. Both Gryffindor and Slytherin met eye to eye as the redhead's arms slowly went limp back to his own sides. Disbelief crawled on his freckled complexion and became the only coherent emotion in his chest.

"You're barking," hissed Harry in his friend's defense as soon as the room went quiet. "If anyone in this room loves Hermione more than anything, someone who would never hurt her, it's Ron."

Theodore shoved the redhead sidekick away from him. "Weasley has been off his rocker for ages! He's been destroying classrooms, shoving people, punching walls—I've seen him. His eyes go blank, like he hasn't a clue what he's doing. Side-effects of war; he needs help! You know that too, Potter. _You're_ barking if you don't suspect for a minute that he could've been the one that attacked her inside the walls of the castle."

Another thick, tensed silence fell upon the residents of the Headmistress' office. Harry tightened his lips into a line, but anyone could see that he was fighting to keep the truth of Nott's words off from his expression. He didn't want to show that he's known for ages that Ron needed help with his blacking out. Nott breathed heavily, meeting the eyes of the Chosen One, challenging him to contradict him at the same time that he tried to collect himself from the weakness he'd let out previously. Ron kept his gaze on the marbled floor, ashamed and his shoulders slumping down. Blaise, once the silence fell, dropped his anger and his worry was back on. Malfoy looked at nothing, mind off somewhere haunting, and he lowered his wand away from the direction of the two wizards he wanted to curse.

"All of you should be ashamed of yourselves." Making herself known again, Professor McGonagall stood from her chair and placed her wrinkled hands upon her grand desk. Her beady eyes narrowed with disapproval at all the boys. "All of you are standing there, accusing one another of Miss Granger's disappearance, and refusing to see the only obvious factor in this room."

Harry was the only one to face the Headmistress.

"You're all very concerned for her," she explained in a harsh tone. "Miss Granger means something for all of you. I don't believe for a moment that any of you would have wished bad upon her or done her any harm. You all care too much for her to let that happen."

And that was a grudging truth that the mix of Slytherins and Gryffindors didn't want to accept. They did care for her, loved her, adored her—all in their own ways.

Harry tossed himself on an open chair, slugging down and burying his face into his palms. Blaise gave the others his back, facing a wall that was missing the last two former Headmasters of Hogwarts. His eyes watered, a knot grew in his throat, and he had to place a hand on Dumbledore's empty portrait to keep himself up. Theodore placed his hands on the armrest of another chair, leaning against it and hiding his eyes from the Headmistress. Draco remained still and cold. Ron was about to leave the office, refusing to be trapped with the lingering suspicion on him, but he was halted when a small group forbade access to the doorway.

"Kingsley."

"Minerva," greeted the Minister of Magic fleetingly. "I've got your message and I reported it quickly to her family."

Before more callous comments could be passed between the two, Blaise gave something that resembled a cry. "_Padre_," he spotted the two adults that had entered the office with the Minister and an Auror and headed to them, "Allegra. I'm sorry. I'm...I couldn't save her. I couldn't get to...I tried...I tried, but..."

Between Mister and Mrs. Zabini, Allegra reacted the quickest. She yanked Blaise towards her, embracing him, clutching him like a mother would do when her son was breaking down in front of her. She held him tight, her top teeth sinking into her bottom lip to keep her from sobbing out and breaking her always neutral composure.

She wanted to. God, she _really _wanted to. She wanted to fall onto her knees, not caring who saw, and cry all her fear, all her anger, all her worry out until there was no air in her lungs to keep her conscious. She wanted to break down like powder. But she couldn't. She hadn't been able to yet; everything had happened too quickly.

The Zabini patriarch looked at his wife and son for a fragment of a second, wanting to join in their misery, but he couldn't let himself. He owed it to his daughter to find her. He owed his daughter all his diligence on getting her back without distractions of surrender.

"I trust you have this under control, Shacklebolt," Deon said with a threatening undertone. "All the best Aurors, all the resources you need, and you find my daughter. You bring her back to me or I'll be forced to use my own methods and soldiers to find her."

"We're gathering a team already, Mister Zabini," Kingsley responded. "I give you my word that we will find Hermione."

Harry stood from his chair, now completely alert and with determination oozing out of his sockets. "I'm going to help you, Kingsley," he stated like he had all the power to sign himself up for the job.

The Minister gave him a solemn nod. He wouldn't put it past the Savior of the Wizardying World to not lead the hunt for his best friend. And he was no one—title of Minister meaningless—to tell Harry Potter no. Not like he would've taken it if it was even uttered.

"Ron and Malfoy are going to help too," continued Harry, a full tone of leadership in every word.

"Harry—"

"Besides me, they're the only two blokes that would go to the end of the world and back for her," Harry explained before the Minister could cut him off. "And if anyone is going to bring her back to the Zabinis, it's one of us."

**X**

Feeling lost was something Ron Weasley was not a stranger to.

There was something prestigious and brilliant about being recognized as a war hero, as one-third of the Golden Trio throughout the Wizardying World, but no one really knew the faults that he hid with all that honor. He wasn't always a symbol of good conquering over evil. Ron knew selfishness, jealousy, wanton, embarrassment, and unloyalty. Ron knew all of that because a part of him _was _all of that.

Throughout the years of being Harry Potter's friend he lost his way. Some part of that was related to the fact that he didn't want to be known as Potter's friend—the Sidekick, as the Slytherins also liked to call him—and he wanted nothing more than outshine him. Yes, that was an ugly truth he carried. He wanted to outshine his best friend; he wanted to be glorified and desired through most of the masses like he was. The envy grew, not in strong and powerful vines, but it still wrapped around him and took him several times off the right course.

Lost he became Fourth Year, if he had a chance to earn his own glory it would've been through the TriWizard Tournament, but Harry had 'illicitly' entered the competition and all attention had been on him; he was lost on the run, manipulated by a certain degree from the horcrux, but he knew exactly all the bile he was spewing to his friend when he wounded him deeply and ran out on him. And it wasn't just with Harry that he didn't know who he was: it was with Hermione, always pulling her in just to push her back; with Lavender Brown, thinking that he'd liked her only to realize he was using her; with his family, always ashamed of the little that they had; with himself, never fully accepting what he was.

When the war came and left—Fred's death a huge hurdle that not only knocked him out, but sent him flying _miles _away from his path—Ron was left with no orientation. He felt nothing but grey emotions. He didn't care any longer; not about life, himself, or his loved ones. Grief had been too powerful and it became the only thing that made sense. Regrettably, he lost himself in it. He lost himself in all the shades of grief; from the terrifying to the heartbreaking.

But through that grief, through that shadowy and crumbled pathway, he always ended up in one place. Through his rage and lack of living, Ron started paying attention to the signs that the world was throwing at him. Life was trying to tell him he found something—though it didn't make sense at all.

Ron found direction in Pansy Parkinson.

'_Why are you here?'_

_He was standing on rocky ground, several feet away from the front of a thick, metallic, black door, with his hands inside the pockets of his old jeans. Day had turned quickly to night, bringing grey, smoky clouds and the miserable drizzle that composed British weather; soaking him from head to foot. He had been standing on that rocky ground for more than thirty minutes, wondering why he'd broken through the wards of the thick, metallic gate surrounding the gloomy Victorian mansion and contemplating whether it was a good choice to have traveled this far from home. But as the rain had kept falling on him, his mind not settling on an answer for any of his questions, a house-elf had opened the door to let out a cat and caught him. He didn't have a chance to react at all before the frumpy creature insisted that she'd get the Mistress of the house._

'_I...I don't know.' He scoffed the dirty point of his right trainer on a patch of that rocky ground. He really didn't; he really didn't know why he was there in the first place, but something always brought him to her. And this time all the way to her front door._

_She raised a sharp eyebrow at him, her blue eyes cutting and blank. He knew that she must've been wondering how he found out where she lived, must've been thinking him a creep, but it paid off to have Parvati Patil as a friend; there hardly was anything that she didn't know. _

_Merlin, that _did _make him a creep, didn't it? He bribed his fellow Gryffindor to find out her address before the holidays even commenced. If he was the girl, he'd be hexing himself right now for such intrusion._

'_I...erm...I'll just go—'_

'No_!'_

_Her shout echoed through the outside of her home; not only surprising him but the owls sleeping in the collection of trees just a few yards to the left of where he stood._

'_Just...Just stay. Don't go.'_

_The perfect, cold calculation that was always hiding her eyes from showing exactly what she was feeling was gone. He didn't know if she was aware of it or when she'd become. He just knew that there was something heartbreakingly beautiful about the glitter of emotions sparkling her eyes blue. There was something raw, human, and sympathetic._

_There was a glint of misery in them that he understood._

'_...Why?' But he still had to ask._

'_I'm scared,' she confessed in the smallest whisper. _

_He watched her take a deep breath, fighting an internal battle, but she'd lost. That night she had lost the fight against being the cool and refined Pureblood witch that wasn't allowed to show emotions. That night, she let him win the first round in their reluctant cat-and-mouse game._

_She stepped away from the door; letting it silently swing open and inviting as she took surrendering steps towards him._

'_What could you possibly be scared of?' He asked, swallowing a knot of scared hesitance. _

_Hurt flashed throughout her features. 'This house.'_

'_This house?' _

_Her cool fingers wrapped around most of his wrist, trapping him, capturing him, and she tugged. 'And its silence,' she added in the same whisper as she led him past that blockade she called a door and into her mansion._

_From the moment he crossed into her home there was no awkward tension. She led him further into the house: giant, ancestral, schemed in grimy tones of black-cherry, chilly atmosphere, spiderwebs on the ceiling and on statues and furniture, and every window shut tightly and covered by thick, black curtains. _

_It'd been a long and slow way to a staircase, but he'd seen the open doors of rooms that they passed and he could _hear _the silence. He didn't say anything as they quietly made their way up three flights until they found themselves in an empty hall with just one door at the far end of it._

_She had released his wrist once the door opened and she walked in a fluid stride. Shuffling his feet, eyes scanning, he'd become perfectly aware that they were in her bedroom. Her headquarters said just as much about her background as what he'd seen of her Victorian mansion. The walls of her bedroom were the same shade of black-cherry as the decor of her home; matching the curtains parted on a window at the far, right corner and the carpet underneath their feet. The frame of her bed was black and glossy, thick and arched. The wall behind the headboard was printed with black and white patterns that he didn't know how to identify. Her bedding was deep purple meshed with a glittering, black lace over it; just like on her four pillows._

_Besides the overwhelming dark hues, he'd noticed that the walls were empty. The room was empty. It looked like no one had lived there in years; like their was no personal connection or homey-feel to the place. Ginny wasn't a typical girl, but Ron had known well enough what a girl's room may look like from his sister; Parkinson's room gave no evidence to that. There weren't any pictures, no posters, no stuffed animals, no sparkles, or other girly rubbish girls like Parkinson would own. _

_She had led him to her bed with another tug of his wrist. He had followed obediently, sat and then sluggishly laid on her mattress. She hadn't minded the action and the open intrusion from his part—especially when she laid herself next to him and rested her head on his chest. She hadn't minded his wet jumper, either._

_By the time two hours had passed, Ron already knew one thing: she was alone. He wasn't very perceptive of the things around him, everyone knew that, but the walls of her mansion had given him more clues of her misery and secrets than if she would've opened her mouth to tell him about them. All the dust, the unkempt bottom levels, the darkness, the creaking silence—it explained the times he'd caught her with tears in her eyes in Hogwarts several embarrassing times._

'_Fine,' he mumbled, looking up at the ceiling and focusing on the shiny, detailed chandelier hanging at the center, 'I'll stay.'_

_Her right arm tossed itself over his stomach. At his slightly pudgy side—courtesy of his unwavering appetite, despite being mad in grief—she sunk her nails and held on. 'Promise?'_

_He glanced down from the ceiling to the top of her head. She was doing good at hiding her face from him, but she had revealed her status in her previous murmur. It was weak, tired, childlike, and so terrified. It pulled on his heartstrings._

'_Yeah...I'll stay until you need me to,' he replied in a hushed voice._

'_Do you mean that?'_

_The massive loneliness that impelled the room, that swept through the small gap left by the open door of her bedroom from every corner of the outside, was enough to get an automatic answer. It was tragic and pitying, a seventeen year-old girl living on her own for Merlin-only-knows-how-long, but that wasn't why he answered what he did. _

_It was because she was lost, too._

_He didn't understand why the world worked the way it did, why things happened the way they did, but he knew that something kept pushing him to her. Out of all the bloody people in the castle, they had to be the only ones that always stumbled upon each other during their breaking-points._

_That's why he put a wet arm over her shoulder and said, 'I think so.'_

He had left McGonagall's office once the details of Hermione's hunt had been somewhat sorted. He had listened to a few tactics discussed between Kingsley's Auror and Harry, but most of everything else had been tuned out. He had wanted nothing more than storm out of that office and crawl into a hole and die. How could he not? But marching out in the midst of the rescue plan for his best friend was not considered adequate—even for him.

But that memory, playing over and over in his head as plans were being hashed out, was what ended up bringing him to the place he was standing in front of now. Out of all places to go—left, right, down, up, one side to another opposite one—his feet had dragged him to the north of his biological compass.

It was the weekend, around dinner time, and he knew that the upper levels of the castle were going to be vacated. Since staff members of the school had to feed themselves as well, Ron found no blockade when he entered the Hospital Wing. It was quiet, smelled like hospitals tended to, cold to add to the sterilizing air, and only one person occupied a bed.

Being pale was not something uncommon among the Hogwarts population, but the white of her skin made him wary when he approached and got a good look at her. Her body was rigid, arms straight at her sides, resting above the crisp, white sheets, and her ebony hair was flat and lifeless. Her bottom lip was sliced and swollen, cuts scattered on her forehead, cheeks, and nose, bruises under her eyes, and at the visible skin of her arms. It wasn't as bad as it looked, McGonagall had informed them when they were in her office right after the attack in Hogsmeade, and she'd be completely clean of any evidence in that time.

Whatever friendly and open encounter that they had shared earlier that day was wiped away by the memory of when he found her in the disarray of a shop and unconscious. Just like that night in her house, Parkinson had made his heart hurt by her loneliness. Malfoy and Zabini were fond of her—as much as Slytherins can be fond of one another, he supposed—but neither had bothered to scout for her through the commotion. Their attention had been solely on the one being hunted. He loved Hermione, she was his best friend, but that biological compass had pointed him in another direction.

Pansy Parkinson was his north.

He felt damaged and torn, panicked and scared, when he found her. Grief jumped out of his body and clung onto his back, trying to cage him. Tears had blurred his vision when he'd gathered her in his arms. He didn't know what she'd been hexed with, if anything was internally wrong—he just knew that he didn't want to lose her. He _couldn't _lose her, too. Strange as it was, unwilling as it was for him, he needed her.

After Nott had accused him of harming Hermione, Ron had been blown off the course he'd been walking on for the past weeks. Something inside of him was rotten, he knew that, but he didn't believe for a second that his unsettling rage would ever lead him to something like that. Parkinson was assurance of that. Parkinson was the testimony that he was still good.

For a week during the holidays he stayed inside her house upon her request, and it'd been since then that he'd laid in the same bed with her. It wasn't new or odd, it was comfortable and right when he invaded the space on her left side and wrapped his arm around her middle.

It reminded Ron that he wasn't lost, that he felt more than grief, and it was his way of reminding her that she wasn't alone. They had each other now.

And he found himself in that.

**X**

'_HERMIONE!'_

There had been nothing but darkness before a voice rung in her eardrums and yanked her from the clutches of nothingness. Her eyes shot open—it'd been Malfoy's voice. It sounded far away, like a distant memory. It was if it was years ago, but the intense emotion that coated it was fresh in her eardrums and sent her heart palpitating with aggressiveness.

Malfoy had sounded anguished and defeated.

She was trying to connect a facial expression with the tone of his voice when he called out to her, but the muffled darkness around her distracted her for a moment. The walls surrounding her did not look like her dormitory. The walls surrounding her did not seem familiar with its beige and brown shadings, the single portrait decorating one of the empty walls, or the barred window on the furthest right wall.

The sensitivity of her left hand became prominent as she furrowed her brows at her surroundings. It was clutching something. She glanced down, not only noticing the mahogany sheets she was laying upon, but the cloth her left hand was tightened around. Her fist slowly released itself into a flat manner, her fingers sore from the balled position they'd been in, and her attention zeroed in on the fact that the piece of cloth was drenched red.

Blood. _Her _blood.

Throwing the cloth like it'd electrified her, Hermione's eyes widened at the profound slices on her open palm; cuts that exposed the layers of skin beneath the surfaced one, turned upward and seemingly tortured. She closed her hand again, bolting into a sitting position but shrieked at the fire and the throbbing affliction most of her lower-half was in.

Her own body tossed itself back fully onto the mattress, top teeth sinking and biting her bottom lip to keep the screams somewhat muted, and her eyes let tears escape. Through the pain that was gnawing at her flesh and bones, her ears perked up and listened to the shuffling of feet. Her prepared mind, her skills earned from her time in war, wanted to stay alert and find the source of the sound but—

"Shhh." Someone was gripping her face. Small hands; cold, hysterical, and scabbed. "Shhh. Please. Please don't cry. Please."

Her head shook on its own accord. The request was irrelevant—how could she not cry? How could she not scream from the agony and torture most of her body was in? Her back was burning, her legs were aching, her everything was painfully decomposing itself in a tortuous rate with no ending.

"'Mione," but then someone else was crying. "'Mione, please. Please."

Opening in a single jolt, Hermione's eyes focused and found a pair of pale blue eyes staring at her with their own share of anguish. Benjamin Nott's eyes were shedding tears of worry and fear. His little hands shook as they held onto her face.

Seeing him, her psyche connecting him to a harmless familiar, abruptly settled her body and most of her trembles. Nonetheless, the bottomless pain was still clawing at her limbs. Her teeth released her bottom lip and her eyes shed the tears blurring her vision to get a better look at him.

"Benjamin," she breathed with a knot in her throat. "Benjamin, what's going on? What is this place?"

The jitters quaking his little hands did not decrease. "I...I don't know where we are," replied the boy. He sounded guilty. "I don't know where this place is. I haven't left this room, 'Mione."

Gritting her teeth, the brunette tried to raise one of her hands to pat his cheek reassuringly but she failed. Not only did everything hurt, but her bones seemed to weigh something equivalent a ton of metal. "What happened to me? Where's Malfoy?"

Benjamin looked confused. "Malfoy's not here, 'Mione," he whispered. The hold his small hands had on the sides of her face slackened. Those blue eyes of his leaked more tears, these silent but still powerful. "You're hurt. You're hurt and I can't fix you."

With more strength that should've been required, Hermione managed to pick up her wounded left hand to touch the little boy's face. She was about to soothe him, to tell him that she didn't expect him to heal her from the monstrous injuries that'd been inflicted on her body, but she never got the chance when the door inside the unknown room flew open.

Gritting her teeth as Benjamin jumped and accidentally bumped the slices on the inside of her palm, Hermione managed to settle the shot of pain when she recognized the person standing at the doorway. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and a snarl that she could never forget.

It was her attacker.

She'd never seen his face, the hooded cloak he always wore to attack her forbade her to, but she knew it was him. He had piercing golden eyes—like vibrating honey. He had jet-black hair, skin touched by the sun, a nose with a crook in the middle, and a beard that highlighted his nasty leer.

"Giancarlo, behave." A female voice echoed inside the room from behind the attacker.

With a sneer still aimed at the brunette's direction, the man stepped into the room and went to the side. He pulled out his wand, stating that he was to be feared, but Hermione did not see his threat. Her eyes just gaped in disbelief at the woman that was smiling at her.

The woman was Abri Vivaldi. Allegra's cousin.

"Don't mind Giancarlo, Aria," the woman said as she approached the bed where her second cousin laid in disbelief. "He's just acting like a business investor. Though, I am ashamed of you, Giancarlo. Look at her! She's still very much hurt. We're not animals here! Fix her."

The man rolled his eyes at the order, but nonetheless he pointed his wand forward.

"Don't!" Hissed Hermione. With the same force that she had managed to summon just to raise her hand, she found some to move onto a sitting position and glare at the two adults. She was in dire pain, but she was not letting them get anywhere near her.

"_Tesoro_, you need some assistance," said the woman with a dulcet, caring tone. It matched the concerned expression on her face—Hermione wanted to slap it off. "Glass punctured your spine and right hip. If we don't heal the wounds they'll get infected. We wouldn't want you to suffer, would we? Be assured, Giancarlo is an amazing _dottore in Italia. _He knows what he's doing."

"What's wrong with you?!" Hermione's shriek bounced off the walls of the foreign room and startled her attacker and little Benjamin. "Why am I here?! What did you do to me?!"

Abri sighed. "The wounds weren't planned—"

"They _were_,"

"—but things happen off schedule all the time. So, for the record, we didn't cause those injuries on purpose. You're _famiglia_, Aria. Don't think me a monster." The woman chortled to herself, tossing a section of her light brown hair away from her shoulder. She ignored the man's comment, but everyone in that room knew that the plan was to cause Hermione agony. "Now, be a good girl and let Giancarlo fix you up. You'll thank us later."

Hermione opened her mouth to let out a string of curse words that would normally never be said by her, but the man detached his feet from where he was and approached her in forceful strides. Not feeling the pain with the adrenaline that shot through her body, Hermione picked up her legs to kick him but he'd seen her fight beforehand. He waved his wand, locking her legs together, and then with his free hand he forcefully shoved them down to the mattress.

She started wiggling her body, trying to shake him off, but he just clutched on. His elbow jammed itself onto her abdomen, making her lose some oxygen.

"Leave her alone!" Cried Benjamin Nott.

The boy sprinted to Hermione's rescue, looking completely afraid and like he was trying to summon courage and strength to be her knight in shining armour. It would've been adorable in any other circumstance, but in the current one, he got elbowed in the ribs by the man and he was knocked down.

Hermione cried out in protest for the boy.

"_Sta 'zitto!_" Snapped the attacker as he smacked her across the face. He elbowed her once more before gripping the roots of her curls, yanking, and forcing her onto her stomach. "You couldn't have chosen a worse person to kidnap, Abri," remarked the man in anger and with a thick Italian accent.

The woman laughed silkily once more. "Well, _mio fratello_, we don't choose our family."

Hermione was still struggling against the man's aggressive hold, screaming into the mattress, but her mind had managed to remember the Italian lessons Blaise was discreetly giving her for a few weeks since they started spending time together. And those developing Italian skills informed her that her attacker, the man that had been stalking and trying excessively to kill her, was Abri's brother. Giancarlo was Allegra's cousin, too.

Blindsided by the snapping of her spine, the torn skin of her back feeling like it was being sewn together without a numbing charm, Hermione screamed more powerfully than before. Her mind was still spinning by that pain that she didn't struggle when the man turned her over once more and his wand waved around the other areas of her body that'd been tormenting her when she regained consciousness.

The man released her. Her body was still trembling with pain, she cried and screamed, but what felt like a lifetime later, the aching stopped. All she had to remember the agony of those wounds was the memory.

"I told you Giancarlo was excellent. Best Healer in all of Verona. The family is really proud of him. He's just twenty-four, you know."

Heaving for air, Hermione shakily made her arms pull her up to appear less vulnerable to the two adults. Disgust bubbled in her brown orbs as she frowned at the woman and her clearly demented interior that was hidden by affection and rosy expressions.

"Why am I here?" She stammered out. "What do you want from me?"

Abri pulled on a sweet smile. "_Cara_, you've got nothing that I want. It's your enchanting father that has something that's dire for the surviving Vivaldis." Taking the liberty to, the woman strolled to her with a powerful, fluent motion. She sat at the edge of the bed and properly crossed her legs over one another. "You just happen to be the key."

Curiosity was her damned temptation. It was her sin and her lover. Curiosity was the one thing that Hermione could never control. It always poked at her head, jabbing her mind with questions and possibilities. And it never hid from her eyes or her face when she was intrigued by something. That's why the woman laughed at her before responding.

"A long, long time ago, powerful wizards and witches conquered all of the motherland for its riches and its possibilities of greatness. It's told that the first paramount family managed to create gold and precious gems from the then tiny city of Ferrara; opening the gateway for others to potentially establish themselves. Ever since then, there's been a war amongst the ancient families to become supreme of all of _la bella Italia_.

"It is also told that the founding Rainaldi family gave a portion of their magic to a selected, competent few in every city they conquered. From the originals, the first ever generation of the Vivaldis was born with pure blood and greatness."

"Along with the De Carlos, Zabinis, and Salvatores," interrupted the man boredly.

Abri aimed her brother a frown. "Yes, but the Salvatores have been extinct for three centuries, Giancarlo. Not to mention that the De Carlos are close to disappearing themselves."

The man sneered at the woman. "As are we, _mia sorella_."

Taking a deep breath, collecting herself so her perfectly polished expression would not crack, Abri turned back to the girl she was holding hostage. "In our generation, Aria, there were only five heirs to the Vivaldi throne. Our _bisnonno _took it upon himself to sacrifice two of them: Sienna, your mother's older sister, who was brutally murdered by the De Carlo family; and Cristiano, my brother who he sold as a slave for land.

"Allegra's parents nor our father are longer alive. And before our great-grandfather died months ago, he drained half of our fortune to try and find Cristiano. The old idiot tried to make amends for his sins and he cost Giancarlo and I our future. My brother is dead. He's been dead for years, but the old man never cared for facts. Nor did he care about the poverty he'd leave his legacy in in order to soothe his conscience. He was vial; a single attempt of a good deed does not erase that. He's certainly spending all of the afterlife burning in hell."

Hermione's disgust for her biological mother's cousins was off charter. How could two people care so much more about money than their brother? If there could've been a remote chance that he was alive, they should've wasted the last coin in finding him. Family was more important than all the riches.

"You want Deon to sacrifice his fortune for my freedom." Though she was appalled by their lack of humanity, Hermione was still smart enough to put the pieces together. They hadn't been hunting her for months to tell her the story of their family now, were they? She was their bait. "You're not going to get away with it."

Abri chortled and Giancarlo snorted.

"Oh, but my dear Aria, we don't want Deon's fortune. He might carry the Zabini surname, but he stopped being one the night he ran away with your mother and both disgraced their respective families. Although his fortune _is _impressive, it's nothing compared to the original Zabini family's wealth." Abri smiled and made a manicured hand reach for Hermione's wounded one. "That doesn't mean Deon cannot persuade his father to hand over their hold of _Roma, Napoli,_ and half of their fortune as ransom."

Hermione smacked the woman's hand away. "You are not getting anything," she hissed. "And you're most certainly are not going to get away with keeping me here. They'll find you and you'll live as a slave to a prison cell."

The mask of sweetness was gone from Abri's pale face. A glare, one the gleamed with the shadow of someone truly demented, narrowed her golden eyes. She took her hand once more and roughly grabbed Hermione's wounded one. She sunk her long, manicured nails into the girl's open, sliced and swelled flesh.

"Men always repent for their sins, Aria," snarled the woman. "Your father happens to carry many involving you. He'd kneel before his own father to save you from unknown clutches."

Hermione didn't want to give her the satisfaction of sobbing from the pain in her palm, but she was grateful when Abri released her and she stood. She watched with watered eyes as the woman smoothed the wrinkles from her expensive, silky white pantsuit. Another hauntingly sweet smile graced her face.

"In the meantime, I'm sure you'll enjoy little Ben's company. He too is here for a purpose."

"He has nothing to do with this!"

Abri's grin got wider. "He's collateral damage in our plans."

"He's just a boy!"

Shrugging carelessly, the woman made her way back to the doorway. With a single indication of her index finger, her brother followed her order to vacate the room.

"What happens if the Zabinis refuse to pay the ransom?" It was a likely scenario. The Zabinis resented Deon for breaking his betrothal with Blaise's mother and fleeing Italy with Allegra. To them, Deon had disgraced their family and he was no longer a part of their family tree. They would never give up their proud fortune for Deon and Allegra's child.

Abri stopped in her tracks for a quick moment. Her golden eyes were soft, but Hermione could see the evil behind them. "Your name might change, Aria, but you're still the Brightest Witch of the Age. I'm sure you know the answer to that."

The two Vivaldis exited the room and a strong locking spell trapped Hermione and Benjamin as their hostages. Staying alive, seeing the outside world and their families, counted on the Zabinis sparing her.

Her days were coming to an end, then.


	20. From a Different Angle

**Lover of the Light**

**Chapter Nineteen: **From a Different Angle**  
**

Everything he's ever loved has always been wrong in the eyes of his father.

When he was five, he loved a boy named Lorenzo. He stumbled upon him a fateful day when it rained and he snuck out of the illustrious mansion to roam the gardens while twelve year-old Stefano took business lessons from the Zabini patriarch. Mister Zabini had insisted that he joined the teachings of the day, but Mrs. Zabini had managed to have her youngest child set free for the first time in his lifetime. Finally getting to be a kid, he explored the gardens, seeing it with new eyes, and loved the liberty in the air to run wild, laugh, and imagine. Deon created a wonderland, a child's kingdom, and he wanted to share it. That was enough for him to set off to the cages where the guard dogs were kept.

Lorenzo was, at the time, an eight year-old boy; tall, lanky, and with hair the color and texture of a haystack. He'd been serving the dogs water and food when Deon stumbled upon him. Being five, Deon's curious mind had been frazzled to find an unknown boy in his property and handling the aggressive dogs with such care and respect that they returned to him. After loads of rambled questions, Deon learned that Lorenzo was the cook's son and he worked for the Zabinis while he was not at school. Happy to know that Stefano and him weren't the only children in the massive home, Deon clung on to Lorenzo and befriended him.

For almost two years Deon took his etiquette lessons, endured tutoring sessions and his father's speeches of superiority and family values, and then he hurried off to the gardens to play with Lorenzo. He'd been so captivated by the older boy: Lorenzo knew how to tame the dogs, how to build things, how to play Quidditch, where the sweets were hidden in the kitchen, how to climb the towers of the mansion to overlook the river, and how deep into the surrounding forest they could find centaurs. Lorenzo wasn't just his best friend and his role model, he was his brother, too.

For almost two years, Lorenzo was the only true friend Deon had—until Stefano found out. Deon was meant to be in his room, reading a massive history textbook for that week's lesson, and when Stefano was ordered to fetch his brother for dinner, he found the room empty. Stefano, being the oldest, felt like he was meant to always achieve his tasks perfectly and keep order. After his discovery, he marched right back to his father and informed him of Deon's secret friendship.

Deon assumed that the beating he received that night was for not studying. Of course, he'd been corrected the following day when he found that the cook, _la signora Sofia_, had been sacked along with her son Lorenzo from the Zabini mansion before the sun came out that morning. When he demanded for an answer, tears in his eyes, Mister Zabini simply declared that a boy with Deon's stature did _not _befriend the help. He had the family's honor to withhold and it was time for Deon to make it proud.

The summer he turned thirteen, Deon was allowed to accompany Stefano to Rome for a day of leisure and freedom. Stefano had wandered into a pub that belonged to the university that he attended; giving his younger brother a handful of money and telling him to piss off and not return for three hours. Glad to be free of his twenty year-old brother and his lack of personality, Deon took to explore _Roma _and see a beauty to Italy that he'd never been allowed to see from inside the walls of his boarding school, his room, or his father's company. It was the first time he ever really heard music. He was fascinated by the intense rhythm the group created, filling his eardrums and making him feel liberated. After that, he scouted the grand city for a music shop and bought himself a guitar with Stefano's money.

By the time he was fourteen, he was arrogant enough to think himself an excellent guitar player. In boarding school he was hardly seen without the instrument; always playing away in his dormitory, out in the field, in the library with a surrounding Silencing Charm, before class, and the days he set out to woo girls. One of his many admirers was the school's music teacher. One day, without Deon's consent, she owled the Zabini patriarch to suggest that Deon was better off in a proper music school where he could expand his talents. _La_ _professoressa Marano_ never received a reply. That year's Christmas holiday, however, Deon knew exactly what his father thought about his talent when he watched him use his prized guitar as a log in the fireplace of his office. Music was never the same after that.

Affection was something that the Zabini children grew up without. They didn't know of family dinners with laughter, public kisses to the cheek from their mother, words of praise or gestures of an embrace from their father, nor a sweet word from one another. At fifteen, Deon tried to change that with twelve year-old Jenoah and nine year-old Bianca. He was cool on the outside, chin raised high, but he was always there for his younger siblings. He wanted to protect them, guide them—something that Stefano never did for him.

Too young to have been molded the way Stefano and he were at their older age, Jenoah and Bianca had warmer hearts. They befriended who ever smiled at them—muggle-borns, half-bloods, and muggles included—and didn't know the value of their pedigree. Deon warned them countless of times about mixing with those inferior to them, but they never listened. One afternoon in their school, a friend of his ran up to him and informed him that a Seventh Year gang of boys were beating Jenoah for his intrusion on a hazing of a mudblood. Skilled with his wand, Deon saved his younger brother and had the Seventh Years hanging by their underwear from the trees surrounding them.

In the office of the _direttore di la scuola_, Deon defended Jenoah from their father's wrath. Mister Zabini had been ashamed that the Headmaster had called, that his children had acted like barbarians, and that they would even consider befriending trash. Before their father's heavy hand smacked Jenoah across the face, Deon stood between them and received the blow. That same night, Deon received a letter with a set of orders from his father. The next day, he shoved Jenoah into an empty classroom and gave him the beating Deon saved him from the Seventh Years and their father, all while Bianca watched. After that, Deon never spoke more than five minutes with his younger siblings.

He'd known from the age of six that Silvana Rosso was going to be the next Mrs. Zabini. He knew that betrothals happened: it was a part of their history, it was a duty, it kept their legacy pure, and it carried on the surname. The one thing he never understood was why it was him. Out of Stefano, who was the oldest by seven years, why was _he _the one to be handed the tradition of an arranged marriage? He asked once, of course, but he never received an answer. He just knew that he had to accept reality.

He was thirteen the first time he was face to face with Silvana, but it wasn't until he was seventeen that the wedding plans began. In between those four years since their first real encounter, Silvana dated under the radar, as did Deon, and both became great friends. They recognized the beauty the other held, but they'd known from the beginning that physical attraction and romance would never arise between them. So when the irritating and righteous Allegra Vivaldi refused to leave Deon's thoughts the year he turned seventeen, Silvana was not surprised that the tragedy of true love had turned Deon's sense of obligation into complete rubbish.

He'd been stupid to assume that requesting to terminate the betrothal was going to work. Allegra Vivaldi came from a pureblood family that dated as far back as the Zabinis, she had immense wealth, was third to that fortune, and was highly respected and praised for her marketing abilities at just seventeen. She would've been a jewel for the Zabini family-tree. Mister Zabini had agreed to that as well—except, Allegra's family lacked what Silvana's had to offer. And that was an entire fortune solely under Silvana's name that would become Deon's the moment they said 'I do'. And just as the Zabini patriarch had heard of Allegra's capabilities, he'd also heard of her work with the Fontanas; a mudblood family that stood in the way of the Zabinis entire hold of Rome.

At seventeen, Deon was used to nodding his head and accepting whatever it was that his father demanded, but at that point in his life, how deep Allegra sunk her nails into his skin and bones, he knew that she was the one thing that he would not give up. He told his father that he loved her, that Allegra was the one for him, and that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. With the world's most profound, indifferent black eyes, his father had commanded that he was to forget about the Vivaldi girl and fulfill his obligations to their family.

That same night, after he was told to excuse himself from his father's presence, Deon fled from inside the walls of the original Zabini Estate. Now eighteen years later, he was back. And he felt just as wrong, just as foolish, and just as desperate as that last time.

"Deon?" Turning away from the fireplace where he once watched his beloved guitar turn to ash, he found a set of green eyes belonging to his youngest sibling staring at him with surprise.

"_Mio fratello_!" Ushering past Bianca, Jenoah marched in with an aura about him that resembled the essence of peace and light. He laughed; the sound booming around their father's office that shook the portraits awake. "_E bello vederti_!"

In eighteen years, that was the fifth time Deon was in the presence of his youngest brother. A part of him wanted to smile just as big, look just as pleased—but the hole in his chest forbade him from forgetting why he was really there. There was no time for pleasantries, no time for reminiscing of what once was or what will never be again.

Before Jenoah could take more steps to go in for a foreign hug, Bianca placed a hand on his shoulder and held the muscular man in place. She had the same kind and sincere glitter to her eyes that Deon remembered her having since she was a child.

"The house-elf informed us you were here—" Before his sister could begin to question his presence, the rest of the Zabini family appeared by the doorway. They were led by the old and grey patriarch. "I don't take it you're here for tea."

The sarcasm was apparent, but Deon didn't see a trace of emotion on his father's face. The man was constant in that sense, never showing and never unrattled. However, he did notice his mother's glistening eyes, longing for the son she lost so long ago, and Stefano's piercing, loathing black gaze on him.

Deon did not reply.

Domenico Zabini slowly strolled with all this power deeper into his extensive office. Instead of heading for the desk that added more to the image of his control, he took a seat on a leather armchair by the fireplace. It was the same chair Deon remembered him sitting on when he tried to marry him off to Blaise's mother. His gaze was just as unmoving, and it frightened him.

"_Parla_." Speak, he commanded; like he was talking to a dog. Offense would have boiled his blood, but Deon knew that the old man wanted to know the reason why his shunned son was inside the home he was no longer welcomed to.

Taking a deep breath, Deon summoned courage to look directly at his father. "Someone took my daughter." The words came out and they cut him like he coughed up razorblades. The hole in his chest ached more, the guilt on his shoulders multiplied, and his sockets burned with tears he hadn't shed in his father's presence since he was seven.

"_Cosa_?" Jenoah's voice echoed in the office once more. "What happened to your daughter, Deon?"

Deon didn't turn to his brother. "For months someone has been after her," he continued to explain to his father. "They've attacked her inside Hogwarts, they've attacked her on the street, they almost killed her and hurt Blaise this past Christmas, and now...They've taken her. Someone has my daughter and I want her back."

The white-haired man remained expressionless. Deon had to will himself to keep on acting and explaining; he reached into the left pocket of his trousers and pulled out the ransom letter he received a week ago. As he robotically handed it to his father, Deon felt self-loathing for realizing that it'd been nine days since they took Hermione, eight since he received the letter, and that he had _just _willed himself to go to Italy and find his family. He loved his daughter with all his heart, but the pride that Domenico had installed in him as a child had blinded him from seeing that there was no other option than the one he was taking at the moment.

Domenico unfolded the letter with thin fingers and read. He did not blink once. A short, yet the longest minute of his life later, Deon's green eyes met his father's dark ones.

"The culprits want my money." It wasn't a question. The next words to come out of Domenico's mouth were, however. And they were laced with controlled indignation."You dare come into my home and expect me to give up seven centuries worth of a fortune and the cities I've built in exchange for your daughter?"

"You're mad!" With a loud roar, with the breaking of the rules they'd been taught as children, Stefano stalked towards his brother and father in a rage. He tore the letter from his father's hand and crumbled it. "You're not taking everything we've built!"

"This is my daughter's _life_," Deon ignored his eldest sibling, "I wouldn't ask if it wasn't dire. I will pay you back the very last coin. I will give you everything I've built on my own for your assistance. _Padre, ti prego_."

Stefano didn't give his father a chance to respond. "Your money is worthless to us. We're not going to hand over everything this family has built for centuries. That fortune is reserved for Zabinis, and you stopped being one the second you left us for that woman!"

"_Che diavolo è il tuo problema_?!" Finally getting to move, Jenoah's friendly face transformed into that of fury. All Zabini sons tall and well built made Jenoah's approach to Stefano not only look odd, but dangerous, too. With wands or without, irreversible damage could be caused. "Someone took Deon's daughter! Someone has our _niece _and you're worried about money, Stefano?!"

"Money that _I've _made! Money that your career as a child's Healer does not contribute a dime to, Jenoah! Of course I'm not going to give it up! It's mine!"

That must've sparked something inside of the youngest of the Zabini children. With wide, appalled eyes, Bianca left her mother's side and stomped right in front of her older brother. "You selfish, spoiled brat!" She drilled her index finger into his massive chest. "This is about family! This is about someone's life!"

As the ruckus continued amongst his siblings, Deon did not remove his eyes from his father. The fear that he felt by the man's unstirred demeanor was enough to make the guilt he'd been carrying for years to finally make his legs give out. He sunk to his knees, and with tears in his eyes he muttered, "please help me. I need to get my daughter back. I need to save her."

The cold room went silent.

"From the moment I fled Italy with Allegra I've damned her to suffering. I stole her from her family, from her only sister, and I submitted her to a life under the rule of the Dark Lord. I broke her and our family. I made her give up our daughter once, I can't...I can't do that to her again. I can't do that to my Hermione, either. I'm not losing her again. So please..._Padre_, on my knees, I beg you to help me get my daughter back."

Domenico could see the tears tracing down his son's cheeks. He saw his pain, his heartbreak, his hate, his desperation—all of his weaknesses. As Deon knelt before him, he could see everything he taught him not to show displaying loudly in front of him. It disappointed him. After eighteen years, he was still disappointed.

"Carry your mistakes like a man, Deon," the old man said to his son as he stood from the armchair, "and embrace the consequences of them."

**X**

In all of her thirty-six years of life, Allegra only regretted one thing.

When she was younger, as far back to when she was four, she remembered loving the human race for exactly as it was. It did not matter to her how much money a person had, how much education they'd received, what the color of their skin was, what background they had, or if they had magic in their blood. What truly mattered, what truly held beauty, was the deeds they did to improve the world and themselves. She loved their genuine smiles, their true embraces, their laughter, and their kindness. She was a four year-old girl, and she believed that people made the world glitter.

By the time she was twelve she learned about the horrors created by man. The beautiful country of Italy, her homeland, was being destroyed by ancient, magical families that believed they had every right to tear it apart. They were at war with one another for power; murdering people, sabotaging companies, kidnapping children, and forcing people under their command as humiliation. It was said they were fighting for peace and restoration, but Allegra never saw it.

Every day she argued the brutality of the wars, of the deluded ideals that someone was better than another person because of their ancestors and the amount of gold in their vaults. She frowned at her father every day at the diner table, judging him loudly or silently with her disapproving golden eyes for his participation in the process. More often than not, he would smile condescendingly at her, waving off her rants as a child that had yet to see the magnitude of their family and their power. On other occasions, on the nights that the battle for territory or clients didn't go in the Vivaldi favor, he would slam his fist onto the table and scream for her silence. He would then go off in detailed speeches about her pure blood, the importance and power that her name had, how she should strive to honor that, and how she should follow her older sister's example.

The Vivaldis wanted her to be exactly like Sienna. It was ridiculous to assume that a twelve year-old girl could accomplish everything a sixteen year-old had in that point of their lives, yet they still demanded it from Allegra. She was used to being seen as the nutter of the family, as the one with an absurdly kind heart that was not going to get her anywhere, that was just slowing up her own path towards greatness. And they thought that following Sienna footsteps would help shape her.

It was her mother's favorite hobby, telling Allegra how better Sienna was at upholding their traditions and their pride.

At sixteen, Sienna was at the top of her class, was set to marry the heir of an upcoming wealthy family by the name of Angelo Neri, was held in high regards in their posh society, and had attributes that complimented the Vivaldi family. Sienna was filled with the same prejudices and sense of family duty like all the ignorant people that Allegra loathed and pitied.

Despite their clear differences, however, they still loved each other dearly. Whenever Allegra went out to defend the masses of lesser kind, Sienna would just pat her sister's head and change the subject; when their mother was too hard on her, Sienna rescued her sister from the lectures and wiped her tears; when their father died in the wars of Italy, Sienna convinced their relatives to let Allegra give a heartfelt speech and scatter his ashes by the ocean. Sienna was even there to help when Allegra's all-consuming passion caused her troubles; the major one coming in form of one of the Zabini heirs.

Falling in love and running away with Deon was not what Allegra regretted: it was leaving Sienna behind. She fell far too deep for Deon, willing to leave Italy and her family for him, that she didn't realize the things she'd be losing. Neither had Sienna. The oldest Vivaldi girl rolled her eyes when she found out about Deon and Allegra's relationship, called love something for children, and just teased her for the fit she was going to make their great-grandfather and mother go into. Allegra knew Sienna was secretly upset that she was going to throw everything away for Deon, but Sienna was always willing to take on the Vivaldi duties for both of them without retort.

Two months into her escape, a letter from her mother found its way into Allegra and Deon's home in Britain. They had a relationship alike most pureblood girls and their mothers—hardly any affection, interactions solely based on lessons on being a proper lady—so she had no rush read what the woman had to say. The letter went unattended for three nights. When Allegra finally opened it, her heart broke and she hated herself all in one go. Her mother's letter stated that Sienna had been kidnapped for ransom by the De Carlo family and the Vivaldis left her to die. They sacrificed their modeled heir to keep their hold on Verona without contemplating rescue.

Sienna's death overshadowed her love for Deon and the blessing of her pregnancy for several weeks. After ages, what felt like a lifetime later, Allegra received something else from her mother: a magical portrait. It was a gateway for Sienna to return to her sister. It was the only great thing Mrs. Vivaldi ever did for her youngest daughter; something that earned her Allegra's respect until the day she died seven years later.

Life restarted when Sienna appeared in the portrait. For eighteen years, Allegra kept her sister with her. She had more portraits created, placed in every worthy corner of her home, allowing for Sienna to move freely to find Allegra whenever they needed each other. For eighteen years, like they'd done all their life, Allegra cried, laughed, and shared everything with Sienna. She was the one person aside from Deon that knew her to the core. And when Deon needed to be alone with his miseries, when she needed strength and advice, Allegra found refuge in her sister.

A sister that's been missing for ten days now.

"Allegra?"

She heard him, his voice raspy and constrained. He filled the room with his despair; adding to the anguish she was already producing and drowning herself in.

She didn't turn to Blaise. He just watched her carefully as she looked at an empty portrait, her hand resting in the middle of it like she was trying to get something from it.

He was about to turn on heels, but she stopped him when her broken voice formed broken words. "I never regretted giving her up." Her nails pierced the canvas of the portrait. "I wanted her to be with me, of course. I wanted to raise her, I wanted to be there the first time she walked, the first time she said a word...I wanted to hear her say 'mum' for the first time and see _my _face...But I don't regret giving her up. It was for her survival.

Eighteen years after, I thought we were finally capable of having her, that it was safe for her to come back to us, but I was wrong. We doomed her, Blaise...I made this happen."

All of Blaise's senses were trying to make his feet move and make him flee quickly out of that room. His customs, the way he was so used to running away from emotions and everything implicated with the heart, were trying to make him leave his stepmother alone with her own fucked up thoughts while he hid from them in his dark bedroom. He wanted to leave, Merlin he _really _wanted to, but he'd never seen her toeing the line of a complete breakdown before. It scared him just as much as it pained him. She was always so composed and seemingly satisfied; he never even knew she could show misery as she was showing it in that moment.

"You weren't wrong." The words that slipped from his mouth came from a place inside of him that he didn't know was so accessible and tender. He didn't know a part of him existed that could attempt to comfort someone for selfless reasons. "She needed to come back to us, Allegra. You weren't wrong. We _are _safe. We're her family. There's no better place in the world for Hermione than with us."

Allegra shook her head, her back still facing her stepson. "I ruined her life, Blaise. I was the one that told your father to get her back. I was the one that planned everything. I saw the Dark Lord's fall coming before anyone did and I started arranging for Hermione to come back to us. I didn't care that she was going to feel lost, nor did I care about the impending betrothal to Theodore that was going to resurface. I ruined her life because I hoped she'd create a new one with us. Now look what my...what my _selfishness _caused."

"She's your daughter—she's my sister, for fuck sakes! She was what was missing to make our family complete, Allegra. Do you think Father or I gave a damn about how she was going to feel, either? We were all selfish enough to turn our heads from her pain for the chance that she'd see how much we loved her and how happy she could be with us. All these months with her only happened because you made the choice to bring her back. There's _nothing _wrong about that."

"Everything's wrong about it!" She finally turned to him. Her golden eyes were rimmed red, less bright and more tortured than they've ever been. "I ruined her life! I should've left her alone!"

Without a warning, coming as a surprise, not only for Blaise but for herself as well, Allegra crumbled. Her legs gave out and she fell onto her knees. Her shoulders shook; her bones rattling with the cries shooting up her throat and out her lips. Neither had ever heard cries so pitiful and thundering.

Blaise took a step back in fear from the anguish echoing in every corner of the sitting room. He had just entered to inform his stepmother that the Malfoys were on their way over for an update on Hermione's case; he wasn't ready for that amount of misery. He knew it was there, he'd seen it on his parents' faces and reflected back at him when he looked into the mirror, but it still daunted him. He just couldn't understand how much something could hurt.

Whatever the answer was to that, Blaise didn't want to be in the company of another person who felt the same way. For nine days he'd done his best to steer clear from Allegra and his father unless it was for an update on Hermione's whereabouts, and now he found himself caught in the mixture of his pain and theirs. And as much as he wanted to turn away, his feet were more gallant than his brain could ever willingly be.

He wrapped his arms around his stepmother's shaking shoulders. He'd never hugged her before, especially since he went from hating her as a child to being an indifferent teenager, but he now found that she felt like home. She felt like the rare comfort he received from his biological mother when she was still alive. She felt like acceptance and an everlasting bond of family—she'd become his mother at a point in life and he'd never noticed. He cared for her; loved her as much as he loved his father and his half-sister.

A knot formed in his throat. Allegra's despair had now become his, too.

"I keep losing her," Allegra cried, her face buried against his left shoulder. "All I've ever wanted was to have my daughter with me and...and...I just wanted to love her. I just wanted..." Sobs conquered her words again.

Unwillingly, hated by him, Blaise's eyes filled with sympathizing tears and blurred his vision for a moment. Once he decided to blink and let them fall, he saw the fireplace ignite with flames. He expected the Malfoys to appear, but the flames did not burn green and tall from the Floo Network being activated. Bodies did not emerge, but a face did.

"BLAISE!"

It all happened quickly. They heard that haunting and missed voice ring throughout the sitting room and pierce their eardrums with shrill intensity and a rush of nervous adrenaline. For a moment they swore it was a projection of the walls, echoing from the times in the past, but then it rung again. It was just as loud and just as gut-wrenching.

Allegra and her stepson both went rigid for a split second before they launched themselves quickly towards the fireplace.

"Hermione!" Blaise had to pull his stepmother back before she tossed herself into the flames. His heart was pounding loudly, he could even feel it banging against the bones of his chest and bruising them. He was sure he looked just as terrified, relieved, hopeful, and miserable as Allegra in that moment.

"HELP ME!"

"Where are you, darling?!" Sobbed Mrs. Zabini as she stared into the distorted eyes of her lost daughter. "Where are you?!"

"I don't know," suddenly whispered Hermione. Through the fire creating her facial expression, Blaise and Allegra saw that the girl seemed coherent and thoughtful. Nervousness still very much apparent, however. "But you have to help me."

Hermione stopped bellowing, but that did not make Blaise hush his voice. "Come on, Hermione! You have to know where you are! Give us a clue! Help us find you!"

"I don't know where I'm being kept, Blaise," hissed Hermione through the flames with deep frustration. "All I know is who took me. Allegra, your—"

Her face was gone from the flames.

"_Hermione_!" Both Allegra and Blaise yelled.

"TELL THEO THEY HAVE BENJAMIN!" She came back for another moment. She was blurring, her expression showing pain and fight. Someone was pulling her from the Floo. "SAVE US!"

She was gone again. And all she left behind was an echo of her cry for Allegra to imitate in strong and never-ending waves.

* * *

**AN: Hola, my lovely readers! **

**'Tis been a long time, hasn't it? I am sorry for taking AGES to upload this. Life is a bit hectic and busy at the moment. I do hope you guys like this chapter, though. I know it doesn't have Hermione or D/Hr in it, but I thought it'd be a good idea if you all saw the story from a different angle for once. I hope I did justice to the Zabini family. **

**Anyway, love all of you lots! Thanks for all the lovely reviews and all the messages. Y'all are the best! :D**


	21. Bleeding Out

**Lover of the Light**

**Chapter Twenty: **Bleeding Out**  
**

His view was that of a steaming cup of tea. He could see the tea-leaves accumulating at the bottom, forming into shapes and piles that he wanted to go all Professor Trelawney on in order to get some sense of clue. He would resort to Divination if he had to and then laugh at the irony of it if it brought all the answers to the things he needed clarity on.

She'd frown if she knew he contemplated on using tea-leaves to find her. She wouldn't believe it for a second that something as ridiculous and illogical as Divination could give them insight to her whereabouts—that made him smirk into the cup. She'd surely slap him beside the head, frown some more, and then go off on a rant about the lacking history of the Seer trade and how her rescuing was most definitely brought upon excellent sleuthing work.

He usually hated when she droned on and on, always on her quest to prove that she was most definitely right, but he knew that if he had her back, if for a single moment he could see her, be in her presence, he'd hear her all his life with no interruption at all.

"I can't believe it's been two weeks since they took 'Mione." Shifting Draco from his tragic musings of the Brightest Witch of the Age, the blonde's ears picked up the annoying mutter of Ron Weasley from across the room. "And we're nowhere near finding her."

"Very optimistic, Ron," grunted Potter at his redheaded sidekick. "The Aurors are trying."

Weasley furrowed his brows. "Since when do you trust the Ministry's capability? Two weeks and they haven't been able to find _Hermione Granger_? Something's off, mate."

"They're trying," repeated the Golden Boy. "_I'm trying. _Do you think I'd let them take this lightly, Ron? Kingsley, for that matter? Everyone's doing everything they can to find her!"

Weasley turned red as usual. Spineless git. "That's not what I meant, Harry. Honestly. I'm just...It's just frustrating."

"I know it's frustrating!" Potter stood from his seat and glared down at the Weasel. Draco felt like smirking again; Saint Potter lost his temper quicker than the crabbiest of women. How he managed to keep the Weasel King, Weaslette, and Hermione loyally by his side was beyond him. "I know how important this is!"

With a dramatic rolling of his eyes, Zabini snorted with distaste. "Oh, shut up." He stood up from his single armchair, zeroing his eyes on the two Gryffindors invading his headquarters. "My house is no place for squabbling like an old married couple. Sit down and shut up, or get out!"

Potter released his sidekick from his glare to turn it upon the dark-skinned Slytherin. "Well, why are we here? I doubt it really was for tea and pastries, Zabini."

"Trust me, Potter, that the only way I'd ever invite you to my property it'd be to feed you and Weasley to the guard dogs," the heir to the Zabini throne snapped. "My father requested you two here because the Minister has found a new lead on Hermione's case this morning. I don't know why'd he want to get you involved—being that the pair of you are complete dimwits—but alas, here the two of you are."

Draco did smirk again as he took a drink out of his teacup that was laced with a little more than relaxing herbs. Blaise loved the dramatics, had a natural flare for them, but he'd become less and less of a true Slytherin since his mother's passing and Hermione's influence in his life. Draco was well aware of the fact that Deon Zabini could care less for the Dynamic Duo's presence in regard to anything with his daughter's case. He didn't believe for a second that Potter, Weasley, or the combination of them could bring back his daughter. Blaise, however, seemed to have faith in the Gryffindors. He'd let it slip the day before that he grudgingly trusted the two with his sister's life, and he knew they'd die for her just as surely as they'd go to the end of the world to find her.

Allowing himself the thought, Draco wished Blaise wasn't so accepting of the two. But things were changing now—they'd changed the moment that they took Hermione. It wasn't as obvious to the naked eye, but if one were to squint, as these two weeks have progressed, he could see Zabini bonding with the Gryffindors in silence over the same misery and worry.

"Shouldn't Nott be here, then?" Again, Weasley distracted Draco from his thoughts. "They have his brother, don't they? You'd think the Nott family would be just as involved in finding Hermione since the kid's with her."

Draco tightened his grip on his teacup. Unbeknownst to the Gryffindors, Nott and his mother had been present in the Zabini mansion two days ago to talk about the whereabouts of the two missing members of each family. Nott played an anguished brother just as much as he played the card of the deeply concerned fiancee. He'd offered up his help to the Zabini patriarch and the Minister, proclaiming that he cared for Hermione endlessly and that he'd do anything to get her back.

It'd been nauseating to hear and enraging to watch.

He knew that before Hermione's abduction she was still wearing Nott's ring, that her intention was still to marry him, but Draco's blood was boiling as he had to sit there and pretend that he simply was offering up his time and sympathy for Blaise's sake. He would've liked nothing more to stand up and let know exactly who Hermione was thinking about; who she wanted more than anything...

Yet, Nott was still the fiancee. Draco was the nobody.

"I could care less about the Notts," hissed Blaise, "or about Benjamin. My priority is to find my sister. We're not negotiating for the boy's sake."

The two Gryffindors eyed Zabini for a long moment. Both of them, as it was in their good-hearted nature, were trying to find a bluff in the Slytherin's comment.

They weren't going to find it.

"He's just a boy, Zabini," said Potter as he looked slightly appalled; a frown creasing his forehead. "He's a victim just as much as Hermione is—worse, actually. We don't even know why they took the boy."

"Whatever the Notts did to piss off the people that took him is not my concern, Potter," repeated Blaise. He wanted to stress the fact that he honestly could care less about why Theo's little brother was involved in all of this. He didn't _want _Benjamin to be involved, but he wasn't going to get into that subject with the Gryffindors or Malfoy. He just knew that he and his family were going to do anything in their power to get his sister back; they were scraping every last golden coin they had to buy Hermione's release, not the boy's.

Zabini watched as the Almighty Gryffindor threw him a disgusted look. For a moment everyone in the room knew that Potter was about to go into a rant about how every life counted—blah, blah, blah—but then his bespectacled eyes glazed over with something that made him look more concerned and frustrated than before.

Blaise raised an eyebrow. "Potter?"

He didn't respond. Outraged realization took over his features.

"You didn't poison their tea did you, Jovi?"

When his master called, Jovi the house-elf bowed his head from the corner he was standing obediently in. "No, Master Blaise." He peeked up from his bow, his giant eyes finding his Master. "Jovi wasn't given instructions to poison thems, Master. Jovi be sorry."

Weasley frowned at the house-elf and snorted.

Potter, however, ignored the creature and the smirks the Slytherins were giving it. "This is not going to be as easy as we thought," he muttered. "I'm not talking about finding her whereabouts, finding who took her, but...But if the Notts aren't mobilizing their assets to come up with ransom, if the Zabinis are just focused on getting Hermione back..."

"She's not going to leave him."

Finally making a sound, finally adding something to the tensed atmosphere of the room, the two Gryffindors and Blaise looked at Draco Malfoy. He voiced exactly what they'd all concluded the second Potter trailed off in his mutterings. And it was true. Hermione would never abandon Benjamin Nott. She'd fight their captors to the death in order to ensure that the boy was released along with her.

"For fuck sakes!" _CRASH. _"She _would _risk herself for a fucking boy that's nothing to her!"

Jovi shot out of his corner to hurry off and pick up the tea-set and plates of pastries that Blaise sent crashing in different directions when he kicked the table they were on.

"He's Nott's brother," stated Harry through his own share of indignation. "Benjamin is her future brother-in-law, a _child_...She'd definitely risk her life for him."

Blaise stomped on a teacup.

"She doesn't have it easy, does she?" Potter sat himself back on his seat. "She escapes that imprisonment and she's going to fall into another one upon her return. She's going to marry Nott. She's willingly going to trap herself despite the fact that she wants to be with another."

The room went silent again. Even the house-elf cleaning up the shattering of glass and crumbs of food paused to let the room sink in what the Chosen One had just said.

"You want her too, don't you?" He didn't even believe he was doing it, but Harry locked his emerald eyes with the silver ones he'd learned to hate for many years.

Draco was rigid on his own seat, cold on the exterior but his insides were scrambling. How the hell was he supposed to answer that? How the hell did Saint Potter pick up on something that was reserved only for Hermione and him? She loved her best friends, Draco was aware of that, but he knew that she'd never tell them what they had.

Blaise turned to his blonde friend and looked bewildered at what had left Potter's mouth. He stared at Malfoy and expected an answer; demanded it by the way he started frowning.

"We're friends," responded Draco with a practiced ease. "Granger and I are going to be in each others lives for a long time, there was no other way around our presence than to create a truce. We did it for Zabini, really."

But that wasn't the truth at all. Everyone was aware that Draco and Hermione kissed. They all knew that things had shifted among the two; that there was something more than just a friendship that came out of the blue. Only Ron and Harry knew that Hermione had been confused about her feelings for Malfoy. And if she had found an answer to them, that they never got to ask her. Blaise was the only one aware that Draco had craved Hermione's forgiveness before the truth of her being a Zabini came to light. He was the only one that knew that his view of her had long ago changed and developed into something more.

Something tied Draco and Hermione, and it wasn't a truce.

"I rather it was you than Nott." For a third time, Weasley pulled Draco away from his silent musings and hesitant emotions. The redhead met his eyes, and the Slytherin saw a sincerity in them that made him feel uncomfortable. "Nott's a good enough bloke, I suppose, but it's you that she wants to be with. If there's something we all want for Hermione, it's happiness. She deserves it. And somehow you've become that for her."

Draco wanted to curse the Weasel. This time it wasn't as filled with hate, but more due to the fact that he hated the feeling of acceptance the Gryffindor was giving him. He didn't want it. He didn't want to let his notion of Weasley being a nothing to crack because he was basically handing the torch of his first love to his nemesis.

"You can't help who you fall for. Sometimes it's the person you least expect. Fighting it does nothing, you always end up with whom you're destined to be with," Ron said casually as he shrugged and reached for his fork to take a piece of his third slice of pie.

As fate would have it, the doors to Blaise's living room opened and in came Button the house-elf with a guest that was not expected.

"Mister Nott is heres for you, Master Blaise," mumbled the creature as she bowed.

Theodore Nott invaded the moment and reminded them all—reminded Draco—that it didn't really matter how he felt. Hermione belonged to Nott.

**X**

A teardrop landed on Benjamin Nott's forehead and it didn't stir him. He laid with his arms resting at his sides, peaceful breathing moving his chest up and down gently, and with no expression on his features as he slept. Behind those closed eyelids, shut away from reality, he was off in a world filled with adventure that he was allowed to conquer on his own.

"I'm sorry," whispered a brunette leaning over him as she tucked him beneath the warm sheets of the bed inside their prison. More tears escaped her, making their way down her cheeks, but she rubbed them away with the back of her left hand as she used her right to caress the boy's dark hair.

It'd been sixteen days into their captivity. Every passing day, every passing second, Hermione cried over Benjamin Nott when he slept and couldn't see her suffering. Guilt created the painful emotions, the knot in her throat that tore away the tears from her strength and exposed them. She didn't know why the boy was held hostage with her, but she could only guess it was to insure her behavior or for the purpose to have the Notts pressure the Zabinis into paying the ransom for their release...

But that wasn't going to happen.

More than two weeks had gone by and Hermione was absolutely certain that the original Zabini family was not going to pay the ransom. There was no way that Domenico Zabini was going to hand half of his fortune and territories to save the daughter of his shamed and disinherited son. The man's grudge towards Deon was more powerful than any sense of family. Hermione was sure of that, too; just as she was certain that she meant nothing to them. Blaise was their only grandchild, a product of the woman Domenico had found suitable for his son and his family. Hermione was the unwanted one. She was the one born from Deon and Allegra's betrayal.

Her tears of guilt transformed into tears of anger as she stepped away from the bed and paced roughly to a corner at the end of the room that was serving as her prison cell. Her hands balled into fists and she wanted to shout at the top of her lungs and release all her frustrations in one blaring scream. She couldn't wake Benjamin from his sleep, from his only peace, so she instead punched the wall in front of her.

She was being held hostage by her _relatives, _for heavens sake. Abri and Giancarlo Vivaldi kidnapped their cousin's only child. The original Zabini family were keeping their money locked tightly in their vaults because it surely must be more important to them than Hermione's life.

_What the hell was wrong with the world?!_

How could greed, money, power, and resentment overshadow the magnitude of family? How do people manage to hurt someone that shares the same blood with them without a hint of remorse? Where's all the compassion? Where's all the sense of connection?

Purebloods had no sense of what was right and humane, that was the thing. They were monsters growing larger and more animalistic from their hunger for gold and power.

"That's hardly fair."

Whirling around, Hermione's reflexes made her body form a stance of battle. Her heart dropped when her mind caught up with her fight-or-flight instincts, reminding her that she was wandless and only had nonverbal spells as her arsenal. Nonverbal spells that'd grown weak every passing day along with her body and mind.

"Not all Purebloods care for money and power." A voice echoed off the walls of the room; hushed and laced with haughty attitude. "There are some that have never had it and wouldn't know what to do with it if it fell on their dirty laps. _Those _are the Purebloods that are tightly knitted and noble."

Hermione's back was straight and she was to her full height when she registered that no one was inside the room other than her and the sleeping Benjamin. The voice that was speaking, the one that startled her, was coming from a portrait hung on the wall that she previously punched. It hung in an angle, crooked because of the disturbance caused by her fist.

It was a woman in the portrait. She had wavy, shoulder-length black hair, slightly tanned skin that was visible from a pearly-colored dress, and eyes that were a toasted honey. She looked at the girl through a narrowed gaze; silently quizzing her up.

Hermione recognized the features immediately. The woman in the portrait was Sienna Vivaldi. It was Allegra's deceased sister.

"Like the Weasleys. You're familiar with them, are you not?" Sienna kept her honey-colored eyes daggered into the girl's deep brown ones. "They've been mongrels for generations and it's done them well."

Hermione glared, losing her surprise. "Don't call them that," she spat. "The Weasleys are incredible people. So very different from the likes of you."

The woman raised a painted brow.

"You were in this," it came out as a statement, but sounded like appalled questioning. Hermione's glare decreased in intensity to show her outrage, to gape at the woman that was biologically her aunt. "How could you do this to Allegra? How could you possibly be involved in her daughter's kidnapping? You know how much she's suffered!"

Sienna rolled her eyes. She paid Hermione no mind as the little boy on the bed stirred. She waited until he turned to his side, assuring herself that the brunette's shouts had not shaken him awake before she spoke again.

"Let's not begin to point fingers, _cara_," said Sienna with a very obvious hint of attitude. "In regards to Allegra's suffering, you and Deon are the ones to blame. He damned her to a life under the Dark Lord's rule, he made her give up her child. And you, well...We both know how fond of my sister you are. You're just the perfect, loving daughter."

"I am not to blame," hissed Hermione, though she felt a pang of regret that even the dead woman knew she wasn't particularly warm to her biological mother yet. "I had a mother, a family—I was pulled away from all of it. How else was I supposed to react?"

"You were supposed to give her a chance. Aren't you praised for being forgiving, _Hermione Granger_? You should have been able to see from the start that my sister is kind, loving, and honest. You instead chose to punish her for something that was out of her grasp."

The brunette held her tongue for a moment. This was not the place nor the time to start feeling guilty about the past few months as a Zabini. Hermione was aware, after all, that her efforts of accepting that title had _just _led her into discovering love and affection for her half-brother. Her developments with Mister and Mrs. Zabini was still a slow progress.

"I'd say you deserved a few good, old-fashion whippings for being a brat, but I wouldn't agree upon a full-blown attack and kidnapping to straighten you out," stated Sienna with a sass that Hermione was starting to think was just a part of her personality.

"Then why are you here?"

Sienna looked instantly annoyed. "_Dio mio_, I thought you were intelligent," she huffed. "Why would I assist Abri and Giancarlo in stealing money from the Zabinis? I'm _dead_. You can't necessarily buy mansions and jewels inside a portrait, can you? No, _i miei cugini _trapped me in this ghastly place when I overheard their plans to take you weeks ago."

Hermione's brows furrowed. "You had no idea they were this vile?"

"Oh, they were always vile. They're Vivaldis, after all," laughed the painted woman. "Within our family history, Aria, you'll come to see that money and power is stronger than any blood tie. No Vivaldi has died from natural causes in the past two hundred years."

"Your great-grandfather...Abri told Allegra that—"

"She poisoned him, of course; made it look like his heart gave out. I can't blame her, the old crone had it coming. I would've done it myself if I was alive, but that bit is his fault, too." The brunette looked disgusted at her, but she paid no mind to it. "She did away with the old man when she realized that the gold in the family vaults was thinning out by the hour. Abri did her investigations well and found what our _bisnonno _was wasting her inheritance on and quickly took it upon herself to remedy it."

"That's horrible."

Sienna smirked. "And that's without you knowing that Cristiano is still alive. _Bisnonno _was willing to give up everything the Vivaldis had to free Abri's brother from the servitude he sold him to. It's been twenty-five years, Abri has learned to live without her older brother. She cares not for his freedom, but for the money."

Hermione's face did not relieve itself from its horrified expression.

"Giancarlo doesn't know Cristiano is alive," and suddenly Sienna was whispering. "Abri kept that to herself. Her two brothers had a relationship alike the one I have with Allegra. They loved each other beyond the norm of a pureblood family and she never really understood that. When Cristiano was sold, Giancarlo lost himself and she used it to her advantage. He became cold and without his own thought. He just follows Abri because a part of him is afraid to be alone."

There was a type of glitter in the woman's gaze that Hermione could identify as sympathy. Sienna must've felt saddened to witness her cousin lose his humanity over the loss of his sibling. She must've related to it to some degree; remembering how Allegra looked, felt, thought, and was when she found out that her only sister was never coming back to her. It was heartbreaking to know that your happiness can be buried along with the body of the departed.

"It doesn't change anything, however," continued the woman as she cleared her throat, regaining herself and looking cold and calculated. "There's something in the nightstand by the bed, first drawer. Get to it."

At the tone of the order, Hermione rushed towards the only nightstand beside the bed. She yanked on the wooden knob and stuck her hand in. She threw out useless scraps of paper, lipstick tubes, and thin books. When she saw the raw underside of the drawer, the only thing resting upon it was a metallic, shiny letter-opener. It was long, light gold on the blade, and with an antique, gem-made handle. It had eccentric details, all the tiny specs of precious stones forming a story—but Hermione doubted it was there for her appraisal.

"Sienna—"

"Grab the boy and get out."

"Sienna, I—"

"Concentrate on your nonverbals, Aria. Your magic is strong. You _can _unlock the door."

"But, Sienna—"

"Head down three flights of stairs. Go into the room at the very end and through the Floo Network there. I've managed to have it connected without Abri or Giancarlo knowing."

"Sienna—"

"You'll have to hurry—"

"_I can't do this!_" shouted Hermione, interrupting the portrait. Her brown eyes were wide, fingers holding on to the letter-opener like it was contaminated. "I can't stab someone! I can't...I won't expose Benjamin like this! I've tried the Floo already, Sienna. There's no way out of here."

"You have no choice!" snarled the dead woman at her niece. "You've got one more day before Abri loses her patience and she kills you with her bare hands! She's angry and mental; she won't finish you off with a spell."

Tears sprang into the girl's eyes once again. One hand went to her forehead, an automatic reflex when she felt the sense to yank her hair out from all the uncontrolled emotions, all the choices to go or to stay.

"She's going to kill the boy first." Sienna was cool, barely any emotion on her brushed features. "She'll torture you with guilt first, Aria. Escaping is the only chance of his survival, of _yours_."

Before Hermione could attempt to protest, to find another way around the ordeal, a small hand pulled on the hem of her jumper.

Benjamin was sitting on the edge of the mattress now, wide awake and looking so small with his own tears. His bottom lip was shaking as he tried to control himself. "You can leave me, 'Mione," he said in a low voice, so broken. "You go."

"_Never_," cried Hermione indignantly.

"You're of more value than I am. Just...Just tell Theodore it wasn't his fault."

Whatever that could possibly mean, Hermione didn't stop and analyze it. She stepped back from the boy, letting his hold on her fall, and she clutched onto the letter-opener with all her might. There were voices in her head now: all yelling and pulling at her senses. Faces started forming, too. She could see Blaise, Theo, the Grangers, Harry, Ron, Allegra, Draco...

She cried at night because she knew time had run out. She cried not because it was her life on the line, but Benjamin's. She cried because she had regrets. There was still so much she never got to say, so much that was going to be left unspoken. She cried because she'd give up her life to insure that Benjamin's life didn't end short. He was just a boy, he had so much to explore and see. She cried because she knew that the only way out was going to be bloody and messy.

She just couldn't continue hoping for rescue.

An incantation repeated in her mind. Her blurred gaze focused on the door and she imagined the sparks of her wand touching it; ending the enchantment in the picks of the lock. It quietly opened, exposing the silence and danger from the outside hall of their prison cell.

With a quick, deep inhale, Hermione whipped around to the little boy. She looked down at him, grabbing his small hands with hers and gripped tightly. "Whatever happens, Benjamin, you make your way into the Floo, you understand me?"

"'Mione, I can't—"

"I can't, either. That's why we're doing it together." She squeezed his fingers once more. "Let's go."

Benjamin hopped off the bed and the brunette turned to the woman in the portrait. Both locked eyes, and for a brief moment, perhaps the trickery of her tears, Hermione swore she saw Allegra looking back at her. She knew that the sisters had an uncanny resemblance, Allegra had practically glowed with pride when she mentioned it, and that somehow brought her a bit of comfort. She somehow connected safety with Mrs. Zabini and she found herself longing to be in her presence again. Sienna had been right, Hermione owed her biological mother a chance. A proper, wholehearted one.

"_Buona fortuna, mia nipote,_" was what followed the hostages out of the imprisoned bedroom.

There was a window at the end of the hall that dimly lit the way. Hermione held onto the little boy's hand, the other holding the sharp object as if it was her wand as they tiptoed about. She was on high alert, paying no attention to the elements that composed the house as she contemplated the ways she could defend herself from a threat without having to resort to mortal wounds.

Benjamin, however, was keen to the place. He saw dusty, old pictures hung on the unkempt,scratched walls. They held a few familiar faces; ones that hadn't changed with age. The clue to where they were was on the walls, but he didn't point them out to the brunette.

"'Mione," whispered the boy as the older girl peered around the corner of the hall before she led them down the first flight of stairs they had to descend, "there's something I've got to tell you."

Hermione thought of another nonverbal: it made their footsteps lighter so the staircase wouldn't creak and give away their sneaking. "It's okay to be scared," she replied in a distracted murmur.

They were at another corridor, about to head down another level. There was giant portrait of a beautiful, dark-haired girl on the wall right behind Hermione's head. If she just turned, she'd see it and realize where their captors had them.

"It's not that," Benjamin whispered again, flicking his eyes from the portrait to the brunette's back. "It's just...I know why I'm here. I know why they took me."

Hermione heard a door open and she quickly slammed the little boy against the wall; her body protecting his. She didn't reply or heard Benjamin's previous statement, she was too distracted by her sight and hearing going hyperactive. She began breathing hard, panicking, when the floor below and the floor above them creaked in unison. There was no telling where the door opened.

Where were Abri and Giancarlo? Sienna hadn't mentioned where they'd be. Hermione and Benjamin could've walked into a trap and get themselves killed sooner.

"I'm not here because of you, 'Mione," the boy couldn't stop himself from speaking.

The brunette closed her eyes. The creaking was mixing together again. Her heart was racing now. She really hoped it was the echo of the old house that was playing a trick on her.

"They took me because—_ANGH!_"

Hermione felt the boy's hand torn away from the clutch of her fingers in one hard yank. She turned around, eyes wide, and saw the golden gaze of Abri Vivaldi sharply staring back at her.

"And where are you going?" Her words were so sweet, like she was talking to a puppy in training. It contrasted with the glaze of insanity in her orbs and the way she was practically sustaining Benjamin's weight, keeping his feet off the ground, by a grip to his neck. "You mustn't roam people's houses without permission, Aria. It's rude of you, _cara_."

Tears built and burned behind Hermione's sockets. They wanted release, they wanted to roll down her cheeks and show her weakness and fear—and she wanted to let them. She wanted the woman to see that she was done, that she gave up, but a part of her was screaming in protest. It was a part of her that was still very much Hermione Granger: War Heroine.

It was the same part of her, the same one filled with years of experience, that made her pick up a leg and kick forward with all her might.

In a blink she watched her foot impact against the woman's knee in a strong blow, making her stumble back and release the boy from the choke-hold she had him in. Hermione reacted quickly once more, yanking Benjamin by a skinny, fragile arm, and forcing them both to run down.

A roar of outrage echoed around the house, making the walls vibrate with fury. It didn't take long before a glimmer of red light shot right at the running figures.

Hermione duck down on time, covering the boy with a cage of her arms and back from the fragments of marble that freed itself from a corner where it formed a wall.

"Keep running, Ben!"

Another jet came close to them; except it ricocheted off a vase and into a statue of what appeared to be the goddess Venus. The statue shattered: Hermione pushed Benjamin around the corner of the next staircase they needed to climb down. A haggard chunk of statue flew past the brunette's left cheek; slicing her skin and eyebrow along the way.

"_EXPULSO!_"

They were still running down the halls, close to the final staircase and third floor Sienna had wanted them to get to. The walls around them were exploding and Hermione couldn't chance to turn around and defend themselves from Abri by using a weak nonverbal. Instead, she focused her magic and chanted _'Glisseo' _in her head.

The third staircase turned into a smooth ramp. Hermione gripped onto Benjamin's elbow and both slid down. Not before a hex got her on the shoulder and made her crash into a corner of their destined hall.

It was all the adrenaline pumping her blood that made her get back up onto her feet, but she did hiss in pain. Her arm was broken. She could feel the bone out of its place, ragged edge touching her skin and wanting to poke out.

"Over here, 'Mione!"

There was no window to light the hall, her head was spinning, but Hermione managed to make out a door at the end of the dusty hall. Benjamin was standing in front of it, yanking and pulling on the knob.

"It's locked!"

They were trapped.

"_INCENDIO!_"

They were at a dead-end hall and Abri was behind them; shooting of jets of fire that were attaching themselves to the wallpaper of the spaces around them and burning down in vertical and horizontal strips.

Once again, Hermione used her nonverbal abilities and focused on the door. It didn't take more than two seconds before all of the boy's twisting on the knob worked and the door flew open.

"Into the Floo!" Hermione managed a voice to yell at the boy as she staggered forward.

Her blinking was becoming sluggish, but her heart was beating in overdrive when she saw Benjamin Nott reach a little hand into an open box by the fireplace, pulling out a handful of glittering powder that was their way out of where they were being kept. He was so close to throwing it in, a look of anticipation on his childish features, but they were wiped away and replaced by shock when a flash of purple light wrapped around him and he fell to the floor.

Hermione screamed.

She screamed in fear, she screamed because she knew what nasty curse it was that enveloped him, and she screamed because something pierced her head and yanked on her knotted curls.

"You're not going anywhere!"

Hermione's head bounced against the hard floor of the room. It added to her dizziness, it added to her pain, and it added to her disorientation. Her eyelids were becoming heavy, demanding unconsciousness. Pressure grew in every atom of her body.

Abri was straddling the teenage girl, eyes wild and ablaze with fury. The gold in her orbs turned from honey and into the orangish tint of flames. There was something completely whole about her, Hermione could see that even through the blackness that wanted to engulf her. When describing insane people, some say that their eyes give it away; that their eyes make you realize that mentally they're not entirely there. But Abri was. Abri was fully aware of what she was doing.

Her hunger for money was what drove her into killing her great-grandfather. Her hunger for money is what had made her leave her older brother as a slave to another family. Her hunger for money made her recruit her other brother so they could hunt down their cousin's only daughter. Her hunger for money was what had driven her to kidnapping a teenage girl and a little, innocent boy.

And it was that same coherent, very potent hunger for money that made Abri raise her wand and point it at the girl. A familiar purple light shot out of it.

Hermione remembered the curse very well from when she was being persecuted by an unknown figure, but the fire that was eating her from the inside still felt new. It still burned and ate her inside out like it was the first time she was being tortured by it. It still made her scream, squirm, and cry. It still made it difficult to breathe, it still made it hard to focus on anything else but her bones turning to ashes right underneath her skin.

"Please," but she heard herself plead, heard herself cry. "Please, stop!"

Abri aligned her face a few centimeters away from the girl's. She stared right into her brown eyes and didn't flinch at the anguish and desperation in them. "I did everything right," she snarled, losing the sweet facade, "unlike Allegra. I built the Vivaldi fortune—_I did it!_ She was a disgrace to the name, she deserved to live the miserable life she got!"

The purple light flashed again and Hermione's sobs pierced the air once more.

"So tell me why she gets all the money?!" Abri dug her sharp nails into the girl's cut cheek; pulling the sliced skin. "Not only was that stupid, old man wasting all our fortune on finding Cristiano, but he was going to leave whatever was left to him and Allegra!"

As another screech escaped her mouth, Hermione managed to raise a hand and find her right pocket. During the run, she'd managed to stash the letter-opener in it. She had forgotten about it from the curse eating her away, but the more weight the demented woman put on her, Hermione felt the sharp object against her covered thigh.

"I worked for our family all of my life! No one deserved that fortune more than I did! But I was willing to forgive. I was willing to keep half of what was supposed to go to Cristiano and Allegra could've kept her measly half as an apology from our _bisnonno_. All I required was for her to sacrifice something, too. All she had to do was convince Deon and the Zabinis to give up half of what they—"

Whatever determination and strength Hermione had was used in vain. Her her arm up had shot up, a firm grip on the handle of the letter-opener, but it hadn't slid into Abri's flesh. The woman saw it on time. And like it was nothing, she took it from her grasp and stared down at her.

"You have just as much fight in you as Sienna did," said Abri very delicately at her relative. She leaned in another centimeter; her nose almost touching the girl's. "And if you remember the story," as smooth as Abri's whisper, the blade of the letter-opener went into Hermione's chest, "that didn't keep your aunt alive."

A strangled, surprised gasp was released by the victim.

With a grander distance between the two now, Abri pulled out the blade and still managed to stare back casually. There was no remorse on her face. Her evil came in believing she was right.

She raised the sharp object again. "_Addio, tesoro._"

Halfway down her motion to sink the blade back into Hermione's chest, it was blown away from Abri's hold.

"Cristiano is alive?" The echo of severity in the voice reflected off every line of expression on Giancarlo's face as he glared at his sister. "_Mi hai mentito_!"

"Sienna is the one lying," hissed Abri to her brother. "We've known for years that—"

A flash of light from Giancarlo's wand silenced Abri. Just as the letter-opener had, the woman flew across the room and landed into something. The man marched forward in angry strides, wand still out and pointed it forward as a shrill shriek sounded off somewhere else.

Hermione wanted to lie there and just give in to the darkness. She could feel blood oozing out from different places of her, draining her from energy and strength, but then she remembered Benjamin. He was unconscious by the fireplace. She had to get to him. She had to get him to safety, she'd promised.

She turned herself over, biting her lip as her broken arm held some of the pressure of her sagging body. With her right arm, the one that wasn't about to pop out a bone, she raised her body a few inches off the ground and began to crawl. It wasn't until she reached the boy's body that she found strength to stand up.

As she did, as her feet and knees shook, as she buried her hand into the box by the fireplace and pulled out a handful of Floo Powder, Hermione saw a row of pictures on the mantel of the fireplace. They were all of Allegra and Sienna; all transcending from childhood to teenage years. She managed half a spin and she looked around the room. It was dusty and dim, but it resembled closely the room Allegra had built her in the Zabini mansion.

"_ARGH!_"

Abri's crazed howl shook Hermione away from the revelation. There was a clutter of broken walls, furniture, and thick debris invading the atmosphere of the room, but Hermione saw the woman emerge a victor. She looked possessed; torn and reflecting that madness from within.

With her right hand, Hermione hurriedly reached and pulled on Benjamin's collar. She threw the Floo Powder into the fireplace. Tall, green flames rose up to engulf her and the boy. Hermione would've wanted to say that the last thing she saw was the destroyed room and Abri's fury, but it wasn't so. The last thing she saw was a curse flying out of Abri's wand and feeling it stop her heart.

That's when the darkness finally won.

* * *

**AN: Well, this took forever to be written and be uploaded. Am I right? **


	22. Open Secrets

**Lover of the Light**

**Chapter Twenty-One: **Open Secrets**  
**

The room was cold.

It was the type of cold one knows will forever be. The kind that has been there for as long as it can be remembered, the type that numbs the skin and makes you immune to it. It was the sort of cold that frosted the windows, that came out of your mouth in a visible fog, the kind that built itself into blocks beside the door and the furniture; the kind that became ice picks hanging from the chandelier and the ceiling.

It was the kind of cold that is always ignored because that's how the climate's always been. It's never going to change. It's the cold that becomes accepted. The cold that's the norm.

For a moment, however...Green eyes looked up from a list containing hundreds of names to glance around the room. Almost thirty years of life, so used to ignoring those icebergs filling the open spaces of her home, and, from time to time, she would stop for a moment to notice it. Sometimes, when she gave in to the fact that they lived in an icy cave like those in Antarctica, when she noticed the blue of her numbing fingertips, the icy breath filling the atmosphere, panic would rise in her chest. She felt the coldness seep in, freezing her blood. The oxygen in her lungs was not circling, her brain cells were halting, her heart was slowing down...

"Bianca, are you done?"

With a deep gasp, the ice suffocating her, killing her, vanished. The ice went from closing in on her to rushing back to be the invisible decor of the room.

"_Qual è il tuo problema, mia sorella?_"

Feeling her blood run smoothly again, Bianca smiled reassuringly at Jenoah. "_Sto bene_," she said calmly, like she's mastered in her twenty-nine years of life. "I was just wondering why the guest list was smaller than last year's."

"The guest list might be smaller, but the budget for the benefit is larger than ever," Jenoah joked with his sibling, an underline of annoyance barely noticeable. "We always know how to outshine people, don't we?"

Bianca kept her smile on her burly brother. It was still based on phoniness, but she was somewhat amused by him. "Well, the charity ball the Fontanas hosted for the orphans last month was quite the talk. It was called the event of the year. I suppose _nostro padre_ wants to regain his status of the illustrious host."

Jenoah snorted as he flipped through another page of the budget report he'd been given to look over. "Of course, the Fontanas being a muggle-born family has nothing to do with this giant spectacle he's making out of my hospital's annual benefit."

"Obviously not,_ mio fratello_. Making this event exclusive to the _crème de la crème_ of Italy is just a coincidence."

As Bianca and Jenoah's green eyes connected, smirks wanting to tug at the edges of their mouths, a throat cleared throughout the cold room.

"_Sufficiente_." From her chair behind an antique desk, the matriarch of the Zabini clan looked up at her youngest children from her own share of paperwork.

Twenty-nine and thirty-two year-old adults looked away from each other and back to their work at the sound of their mother's voice.

"_Siamo una famiglia prestigiosa e siamo obbligati a mostrarlo_," reprimanded the woman, her bright, emerald eyes narrowed and creasing her forehead. "Instead of judging your father, Jenoah, you should focus on what he does for your hospital. These events bring more than generous donations so your patients can have the best of the best. You're a skilled Healer, _mio figlio_, but that doesn't entirely save lives."

The man's kind face abandoned its sweetness and went with a glower. There was anger on his face, every line marking the dark-skin of his complexion to show his true emotions. Ones that he could not show freely. Those emotions that he had to stomp down on time after time. After all, he was not allowed to show anything but content and acceptance for what the family was. Not even if he wanted to shout, rip all the documents, and forbid the Zabinis from getting involved with his work.

He just wanted to be. He just wanted his career, his love for medicine and curing people, to be separate from familial obligations.

But that was never going to happen. Every year, benefit after benefit, Jenoah was trapped further into the abyss his surname created. Every year he just re-established that his father owned him.

" Bianca, you should be taking this as practice. One day soon you'll be in charge of these events," Mrs. Zabini continued. "You have responsibilities as my only daughter to fulfill. Not to mention that when you and Santiago marry—"

"Santiago and I aren't getting married," interrupted Bianca before she could stop herself. She knew she should have not, she never had before, but it just slipped. "We've discussed this before. It's too soon."

The matriarch frowned. "You've been dating for three years now, Bianca. That's time enough." And she meant it. "Your father and I never exposed you to a traditional marriage with a respectable Italian wizard due to your pleas, Bianca. We allowed that Spaniard to court you because there was a promise of marriage. We gave you your happiness, now fulfill your duty."

Bianca sunk her top teeth into her bottom lip. She was looking at her mother in the eye, but desperately trying to hold her guard. Tears wanted to come out of their hiding and slide down her face. She wanted to express how cheated she felt. Her parents acted as if letting her find love on her own, letting her choose the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with, was a kindness from their part that she needed to repay.

"_Tuo padre non è un uomo paziente._ Make him wait another year, Bianca, and he'll do away with Santiago."

Inhaling the icy air of the room, Bianca nodded. "_Naturalmente_." Swallowing a knot of her emotions, those that weren't dignified for a Zabini heir, the young woman looked back down at the guest list. "I noticed that—"

The walls of the office started shaking, cutting off whatever Bianca was going to diverge the subject with. It wasn't a tremor of the earth; the strong vibrations came from _within _the walls and it was felt in the magic running through their veins. It was the signal that someone unknown, someone uninvited, had trespassed through the Zabini gates and set off the strong wards of the mansion.

Jenoah was the first one on his feet. Bianca rose up after, grateful to be able to throw the guest list like yesterday's newspaper, and followed after her brother. Their wands were out. Jenoah didn't have to say anything, didn't have to indicate where he was going, because Bianca knew. That was a modern tactic of the new security system wrapped around their home. When someone uninvited, someone without Zabini blood, entered through, regardless of what level or point in the grounds they were, a member of the ancient family would be able to sense the location of intrusion.

Though the spell led them several flights upwards, there was deep confusion on both siblings' faces when they noticed exactly where they were taken.

Fifth floor of the mansion, the abandoned level. The floor that has been ignored and undisturbed since its inhabitant left eighteen years ago.

The only door in that level was slightly open, exposing light from inside that was man-made. Fluidly, Jenoah raised his wand high and kicked the door fully open. Bianca was right behind him, her wand pointing over his shoulder, ready to fight and protect.

"Stefano?" Jenoah's wand lowered when he recognized the muscular figure inside the dusty bedroom. "_Che cosa sta succedendo?_"

Slowly, steadily, the oldest of the Zabini siblings turned; moving one step to the right. And as he did, as he moved his colossal body, he was showing his brother and sister what his eyes had been focused on.

Bianca let out a giant gasp.

There were two bodies on the ground, right in front of the room's fireplace. From head to toe, hey were covered in powder. But it hadn't been the mess of soot that made Bianca gasp and grow panicked—it was the blood. There was so much blood. There was so much red, soaking into the rug of the bedroom, infecting the icy and dusty air with the smell of iron.

Two mangled and bruised bodies, but only one that was growing transparent right before their eyes.

"He set off the wards," Stefano spoke cryptically as he stiffly looked down at the two bodies, "the boy. He isn't of Zabini blood."

"_Oh mio dio!_" Bianca was becoming unstable with all the blood. "Jenoah, help me!"

Before the medical expert in the family could move, Stefano whipped out his wand and held his brother in place. "Don't."

"What are you doing?!" Screamed Jenoah. "They need my help! Unbind me!"

Bianca was sobbing over the two bodies, hands shaking, no coherence at all coming out to help assist. The last two Zabinis, the heads of the family, came through the door; wands at the ready. Both had looked conflicted, confused of why they were in the level of their disowned son. Mrs. Zabini was the only one to close to losing composure when her emerald eyes landed on the location by the fireplace.

"They came through the Floo," spoke Stefano once more. "Whoever had them in captivity is on the other side. If...If we hurry, Jenoah, we can apprehend them. We can find out who did this."

Most of the fury on Jenoah's face wiped away. He nodded. "For Deon," he said. "For our niece."

Stefano did not reply. He released the magical mind on his brother, and without looking back down at the figures, he grabbed a handful of Floo Powder and threw it into the flames. Jenoah quickly followed.

"_Cosa devo fare?_" Cried Bianca as she looked up at her parents.

Domenico Zabini, in all his cool exterior and person, turned to look at his wife with no expression at all. "Take them to a hospital. I'll contact the British Ministry."

Following orders as she was used to, Roma Zabini approached the bloody scene before her as her husband departed the room. Once she arrived, crinkling her nose at the intensity of the smell, at the gruesome sight, she bent slowly.

With a soul filled with sorrow and outrage, Mrs. Zabini put a hand on the wounded girl's chest. Three seconds and all the composure, all the training could've gone straight to hell, but she managed. She managed to swallow guilt and grief to say, "Deon's daughter is dead."

Bianca exploded into a crying frenzy, the sensitive soul. She clutched onto the lifeless body of her long-lost niece and cradled her.

The head of the body lolled to the side, face turned towards Mrs. Zabini. And then—brown eyes found green.

"You're dead, Hermione," whispered the older woman to her granddaughter. "You're dead."

The eyes of the brunette shut again; the scene inside the cold, dusty bedroom vanishing away. Screams started echoing all around, filling up everything. The world was made out of shouts of pain, shrieks of anguish, and no one could claim otherwise.

Everything had disappeared into booming waves of cries.

**X  
**

"Shh, it's okay. Shh. Shh."

She was thrashing about, trapped into confinement by white sheets. Her legs were kicking wildly, trying to free her, trying to push away the person that was holding her down as she yelled.

"Shh, it's okay. It's okay."

The screams escaping her mouth weren't stopping. The intense fear, the haywire fight-or-flight reflexes were telling her to keep thrashing about. They filled her body with the sense of danger; mixing with the pain shooting up across every inch of her. She yelled, yelled, yelled.

"It's me, shh. It's me. It's Draco. Stop."

And she did.

With her eyes finally focused, her eyes finally stopped seeing the flashes of spells, the familiar pairs of green eyes, and she found something entirely different. She found white-blonde hair, pointed features, and silver eyes. She found heaven, comfort—Draco Malfoy.

"It hurts," she sobbed past trembling lips. For a moment, the quickest that she's ever experienced, her vision glazed over from her tears, but comfort was brought to her again when she shed them and Malfoy's silvery gaze was sharp and clear once more. "He lied."

His gaze was cloudy. It wasn't his typical, brooding and stormy kind, however. It was fogged with something more complex than anger and frustration. It was stormy like a rainy day. There were tears in his metallic eyes.

The hands that'd been clutching her shoulders slackened and traced down her arms. Gently, the white skin of his palms left beautiful trails of tingles on her flesh as they went for her hands. He looked down at them, and for a second, hate did fill him up; then it was gone. She didn't see the scars he was seeing on her fragile hands, but she did feel him squeeze.

"Who lied?" He asked after a moment, voice stoic and contradicting the current vulnerability he was displaying.

"Harry," she said to him. "He said it didn't hurt to die. But it does, Malfoy. It really hurts."

His fingers gripped too tightly. "You're not dead, Hermione," he said through clenched teeth. "We're in St. Mungo's."

"I think I'd know if I was alive, Malfoy."

"You _were _dead," he replied, wanting to roll his eyes at her need to always be right. It just wasn't the time. He was too..._something_ to be aggravated by her."You were gone for ten minutes, but they revived you. You've been unconscious ever since."

The surroundings of the room—the white bedsheets, the white medical gown on her body, the appliances throughout the room, the cabinet of potions reading _St. Mungo's_ at the furthest corner—told her exactly where she was, but how could she believe that? How could she be alive? It didn't make sense.

"But...Mrs. Zabini told me I was dead," she whispered, looking thoroughly confused. "Deon's sister was holding me...she was crying when her mother said I was dead."

Malfoy raised a brow, looking briefly confused himself. "They're the ones that brought you here," he told her. "You were barely hanging on when they did. It wasn't until you were being treated by the Healers that you actually..."

"That was real?" She cut across what he didn't want to say, what he didn't want to remember. "I...What...Sectumsempra again, right? It felt the same as the first time."

"One of your heart's artery was punctured," Malfoy spoke again, equally as flat as before. "That, along with the Sectumsempra, contributed to your heavy blood loss. You were practically drained when they brought you in."

She didn't say anything for a moment.

Every part of her hurt, and she knew that the damage extended beyond blood loss. She could see it in his eyes, too. There was something she quite couldn't identify, but she saw him looking her over like she was a mangled ragdoll. And she felt like one. She felt her chest stitched together, the bones of her left arm were sensitive, indicating repair, and everything else was sore and rigid. She didn't know what specific parts hurt because it all blended together and spread through her skin.

"Where's Benjamin?" Then she remembered the boy. She remembered him falling from that nasty, torturous hex and then that was it.

Malfoy raised his brow again.

"Is he still in the hospital?"

The blonde didn't blink.

"Malfoy?" Her heart picked up in rhythm, fueled by worry. "Malfoy, where is he? Where's Benjamin? He was alive, Malfoy. He was—"

"Are you seriously worried about some child right now, Hermione?" His hiss echoed around the hospital room.

She stopped.

"You were _dead_," he almost shouted at her, his hands letting go of hers. He put some distance between them, too; backing away and frowning at her through now venomous eyes. "And before that...You were gone. I keep losing you, Granger, and it's driving me insane! And you're just going to lie there and ask about Benjamin Nott?!"

"...You said you wouldn't call me Granger anymore."

Draco's frown intensified. "This is it, isn't it?" His exterior wasn't matching his voice once more. He was angry, his hands balled into fists, his gaze hating her, but his tone was defeated and deflated. "This is our fate, right? I'm always going to end up losing you."

Despite her overall aching body, Hermione found strength to pull herself into a half sitting position. Her mind was disoriented, fragments of what had occurred missing from her memory, replaced with things she thinks were real, yet not at the same time; but she remembered him clearly. She remembered the bliss she had with him before she was taken. She remembered sleeping in his arms after weeks of avoiding him. She remembered kissing him on New Years, and the sky exploding in fireworks because of it. She remembered the beautiful, icy smell of him; even his vivid silver eyes up close and personal.

She even remembered crying during captivity because there'd been a strong possibility that she would never see him again.

"Life seems to be signaling that we are doomed," murmured Hermione, looking up at him through her lashes and tears. "Our intertwined lives are either based on hate or misery, but...Someone once told me that love can be true even when it seems hopeless and out of our control."

Still a good distance away from her, the blonde Slytherin continued to glare. There was a struggle inside of him, as per usual. As always when he thought of her, when he felt for her. She was everything that infuriated him—yet everything that he needed. How that could be, he'll never know. He just knew that she was poison; his addiction. Every single thing about her—right down to the feel of her lips to her annoyingly righteous attitude—did he need. She was his addiction; something too powerful to kick or rehabilitate from.

She was in him now. His entire heart and soul.

"I hate you," he said from his stance.

A dim smile tugged the corner of Hermione's mouth. "'I had wrought hard to extirpate from my soul the germs of love there detected; and now,'" she began, softly as she'd been speaking before, but with a lightness that made Malfoy paler, "at the first renewed view of him, they spontaneously revived, great and strong...He made me—'"

"Shut up, Hermione." Halting her Jane Eyre monologue, not bearing to hear it, Malfoy made his way steadily to her. He was still glaring at the weak brunette, but he went for her hands again. He gripped them as tightly as he had before, but his thumbs caressed her scabbing knuckles tender like the touch of a feather.

The simple act, combined by the penetrating silver of his gaze, sent automatic flashes of happiness through her veins.

"Kiss me, Draco."

The frown on his face was replaced with an expression that only Hermione ever saw. There was a smile of his own on his lips, making his features glow heavenly. It was sincere and only for her. "Always the martyr."

Her brows knitted. "How am I a martyr? I just want you to kiss me."

He rolled his eyes at her this time. "Haven't you gone through enough physical pain to add the effects of a binding marriage contract?"

She snorted. "That's exactly my point. I've been through enough torture, I think I can handle a shock or two." She pulled her hands, reeling him in the process. His legs hit the edge of her hospital bed, making him hunch down; his body acting like a cage, covering almost all of her. "Besides," she whispered, "it'll be worth it."

Keeping his weight off of her, his body barely hovering over her, Draco shook his head. He did the only thing he could do: he kissed the end of her nose.

She frowned up at him. "Like a man, Malfoy, please."

Laughter was running up his throat, ready to come out past his lips, but the door of the hospital room opened and he tore away from her like he was pulled backwards.

"HERMIONE!"

And then it was Blaise that was hovering over her, other people soon invading the room and ending the little knit of heaven that Hermione had with Malfoy.

For the first time in a week, Draco willingly walked out of the brunette's hospital room. He shut the door behind him, catching the crying of Allegra, and he leaned his back against it.

_'He made me love him without looking at me.' _That's what he didn't let her say. That's what he hadn't been strong enough to hear.

She was in love with him, but their fate was still damned.

**X**

He was sitting on the chair of the accused.

They had a bulb of light hanging directly above him, highlighting him and making him the focal point of the room. It was a dirty, grimy place; one obviously set out for those not worth putting on trial in front of the respectable Wizengamot.

He was trash. He was nothing.

And the people sitting before him, glaring him down like they were ready to launch themselves across the small table that separated them and beat him until his skin was just as dark and bruised like the walls surrounding them. They would resort to physical violence for satisfaction, even if their wands had not been taken from them upon their entrance into the interrogation room reserved for lowlives.

He didn't blame them, really. If he was sitting across from himself he'd give himself the same exact looks of disgust, mistrust, and hatred.

"I knew you were in this," and the seething had begun. It had only taken twenty minutes of thick silence and bubbling fury for the show to get started. The first one up was Zabini: abhorrence in his green eyes, in his voice, in the air he was exhaling out. "I smelled guilt on you the moment you stepped into my house and offered your help to find my sister._ I knew it. _You didn't fool me one bit, you fucker."

Theodore had a quick, witty and sarcastic retort to Zabini's insult, but he swallowed it down. He knew that if he egged Zabini on the flying of fists would only take about a second to commence. Not like he doubted he could take Zabini on during a full-scale fight, he didn't expect the dark-skinned wizard to break a manicured nail on him; it was just that his wrists were tied together and he knew no guard waited outside the door of the interrogation room. It seemed the Ministry Officials assumed that all threat on his life was gone simply by forbidding wands inside. Or maybe they just assured themselves that his murder wouldn't be based on magic and every other method was free reign. They'd find a way to cover it up, he was sure. No one would care.

Again, he was nothing. He knew it; everyone did.

When he first spoke, Blaise had risen up from his seat and was now acting his part of a hot-headed, unstable Auror on a frustrating case. He had his hands on the surface of the metallic table, leaning down on them as he glared at the dark-haired boy across from him. However, his expected, furious and insulting monologue didn't continue. Instead, it was the blonde sitting next to him that spoke.

"Shacklebolt and his men have done conclusive investigations on this case," Malfoy began, cold and detached like it was in his nature. Anyone who didn't know him, anyone that's never bought his emotionless exterior and masks, would've believed that he truly felt nothing. But, sitting across from him, eyes daggered into each others, Theodore saw the perfect fury in the silver orbs of the Slytherin Prince. "They charge you as an unwilling accomplice and a victim of threat. You were under the Imperius Curse when they had you attack Hermione that night inside the castle."

Theodore willed himself to keep the eye-contact with Malfoy. He did not blink. Not even when he began to remember meeting Abri Vivaldi before returning to Hogwarts for the new term. His mother had introduced her as a business partner over tea and pastries, someone who was going to get the Notts out of their debt, and that's all the interaction he remembers having with her. Before she bewitched him, that is.

He wasn't trained in Occlumency to fight the intrusion and captivity of his mind: his orders had been to negotiate a blind spot within the centaurs so she could arrive on the place where the outskirts of the forest and the edges of the grounds of Hogwarts met. He did so the first day, as commanded, and he waited for her like an obedient puppy when everyone else was at the welcome feast. The instructions that night had been simple: return in a few week's time. When the Imperius Curse was lifted, he found himself alone and sitting underneath a tree; assuming that he'd fallen asleep. He left the grounds and went back into the castle, but with a curious inkling that he had a very important appointment to prepare for.

He'd known about Hermione Granger's true identity and their betrothal towards the end of the summer holidays, before meeting Abri Vivaldi. There was an immediate protest from his part; an angry one at that. He'd spent the last few months of the war changing, developing, getting to see things in a wider perspective. _Someone _had changed him. And in the summer, in the midst of that budding connection that had him transforming into a happy tosser, he found that he needed to give it up. He didn't want to. He damned his mother, fought with her, but in the end she'd won. She'd won the battle by bringing Benjamin into the room and forcing Theodore to tell him that he was going to let his future sink before it could sail simply because he was refusing his place in tradition.

It was all about family duty in the end. He'd been raised and fed the ideas that a pureblood, above all, needed to keep his legacy running and that the financial stability of the family relied upon the man of the household. His father was in prison, Theodore was just seventeen, but he now had the pressure of lifting the Notts from the hole of poverty Theodore Sr. trapped them in.

Theodore's happiness had to be forgotten. That _someone _had to be forgotten. Everything he'd gained had to be sent away. That was his fate from there on out.

He knew that it wasn't her fault, Hermione's, and that if he was going to go along with it, if he was going to be marrying her, he was going to take his new development and make a friendship out of the situation. He knew he was never going to be in love with her, but there was no reason why he couldn't grow to care for her. So he went ahead; he befriended her and indeed found that she was something breathtaking that everyone needed to have in their lives. She was true and unadulterated friendship, what he'd been missing all his life.

The night of her attack inside the walls of the castle only brought the realization of his participation when he found himself chanting a spell over and over in his head. He didn't recognize it, hadn't used it in his life before, and he was coherent enough to know that it wasn't in any of the textbooks assigned in all his years at Hogwarts. His curiosity got the best of him and he pointed his wand towards an unsuspecting Fourth Year. He watched a purple light escape his wand and make the boy scream like he was being ripped apart. Horrified, Theodore ran away after using Obliviate on the student and rushed to the Slytherin Common Room. Two days after, he'd overheard Ginny Weasley and Harry Potter talking about Hermione's attack and Theodore put two and two together.

He spent an entire day locked up in his dormitory, too shocked to attend lessons and have people look at him. He wasn't evil. He'd established that during the Dark Lord's reign of terror. Yes, he'd been a supremacist, but ridiculing and prejudice had been his only sins. He never bore the Dark Mark and participated in murders or tortures. He wasn't evil—_he wasn't_.

Fear and panic drove him to write to his mother, out of all people. He didn't know why he'd done so, he didn't expect comfort or reassurance from a woman who looked at her children like they'd stolen everything good she'd ever possessed, but he definitely didn't expect what did arrive. She replied within the hour, simply telling him to Floo Call her after curfew. That night, he headed out; sneaking away from Filch's patrol and into Trelawney's office where the Floo Network was unattended since the demented hag never locked her office.

As soon as he saw his mother's expressionless face emerge from the flames, Theodore gave in to his guilt and started babbling with incoherent dread. He didn't know how he could've done it, how he could've hurt Hermione Granger and not remember it. He'd asked desperately if she knew of any sleeping-walking symptoms caused by depression or subconscious resentment—anything that could justify what had occurred—but the woman had ordered him to shut up.

'_You're obviously useless for this, Theodore,'_ she had said to him with a coolness. _'But not to worry, I've assured that you're never used for physical attacks anymore.' _

He had gaped at the flames. He remained silent for what seemed like hours. Mrs. Nott had taken that silence to continue explaining; adding more horror onto what her son was already feeling.

'_You'll have to keep a close eye on her, scare her when you're told. She must never forget what happened. She mustn't feel safe, Theodore; that's of importance.'_

'_Are you insane?'_ He had hissed. _'What are you doing, Mother? What did Granger ever—'_

'_It's not what she did,' _the woman had interrupted with a scolding look that the flames captured perfectly, _'it's what she can bring. All we have to do is make sure she serves her purpose. Nothing more, Theodore.'_

'_You're terrorizing a girl! How can I find any sense in that? _What did you make me do?!_ I will not go along with this, Mother!'_

'_You have no choice!'_ Mrs. Nott had shouted, losing all the patience she was capable of containing. _'We are to help Abri Vivaldi in her plans or suffer the consequences. Don't you see, Theodore? By doing this we insure the girl's survival—your access to her fortune once you get married. I rather torture the girl for a while than have the betrothal be cancelled out by her sudden death. I'm doing this for you.'_

His mother would justify her means for cruelty as an act of kindness for him, but Theodore knew it'd been a lie. She was doing it for her own use: she needed the betrothal between he and Hermione to be fulfilled so gold could start pouring back into the family vaults. She wanted to regain her status: she wanted her refined possessions back and the power she once had.

And she'd done beautifully in making Theodore into her and Abri's accomplice.

"When Shacklebolt told us who was behind this, when your name escaped him, it took me a moment to actually believe it," continued Draco, like he hadn't seen his fellow Slytherin's silent musings. "But then...You're the only one who knew about Sectumsempra. You overheard my discussion with Snape about it a night in Sixth Year when I was still in the Hospital Wing. It all made sense then."

Guilty as charged. Theodore remained silent because, yes, he'd been the source of Abri's knowledge of the Sectumsempra curse. She'd taken it from his mind, after all. Everything that Theodore held most dear, all the fears and joys, that woman knew. _Everything_.

Even the one secret that was only reserved for him.

"Did you give that information up unwillingly, too?"

"Nothing could kill her," Blaise interjected after Malfoy's rhetorical, sarcastic question. "Not Sectumsempra, not your fucking attacks. So here's what I think: you used your brother in all of this to trap her. You knew she would never leave the kid behind, you knew she'd give up her life because that's exactly the type of stupid person she is—so you used your _eight year-old _ brother. What kind of fucking monster are you, Nott?"

_BANG._

It surprised Blaise more than it surprised Draco when Nott bolted upright from his seat; sending the metallic chair flying backwards and into the wall. His tied fists collided with the table, making Blaise flinch and pull himself away from the quick, hectic moment due to the reflexes that sensed unsuspected danger.

There was something absolutely darker than night in Theodore's already indigo eyes. It was as if all the light, as if everything close to composure and sanity was wiped away. Hell burned in the center of his pupils. He was ready for an attack.

"My brother is everything to me, you fucking imbecile!" He roared. "I would never put him in harm's way! I would've never let them take him—I would've died first! But they did, they took him and I couldn't do anything about it!"

Blaise composed himself from his previous little scare and was back into his full-fury spree. "You should've, you worthless twat! You should've died! Look at everything you've caused! My sister's in a hospital barely holding on to her life! You never cared about her, all you wanted was the money!"

"I love Hermione!" Theodore's voice cracked through his shout. He felt an unbelievable weight crushing down on his shoulders, trying to sink him into the floor and straight into the muggle's belief of where hell was. Zabini's words cut him—he _should _be dead. All this time he'd been right: if Theodore disappeared everything would've been better. None of this would've happened. No one would have suffered. Not Hermione, not himself, not Benjamin, not the Zabinis, not...

Tears sprang into his eyes and Theodore knew he'd lost the war. There was no more fight in him. No more will to keep silent, no more will to be collected and poised, no more fucking will to breathe. Every card that he'd been dealing since the beginning of the school year, every card that he was stacking into an elaborate lie, had been knocked and scattered all around him.

He was done.

"Hermione willingly agreed to marry me," he whispered so defeated. Theodore sunk back onto his chair. He didn't look his fellow classmates in the eye. He couldn't; speaking was shame enough. All he did was stare at his tied hands on the surface of the table. Oh, the irony of it almost killed him.

The door of the investigation room opened, and it was only Blaise that turned around to see his father march in. Confidence raised his head higher, like he gained strength to be able to brutally murder the cause of Hermione's suffering because his father would support it.

Deon, however, gave no indication of anger or hatred. He ignored his son's fury and focused on the prisoner.

"I didn't want to get married," Theodore continued muttering, "but I had no choice. There was no way out. It didn't matter that...I was with someone. I _had _someone. I thought that...I thought that I could start all over. I just...I wanted to have my own life. I thought that I could leave my father's mistakes in the past and do something new for me, for the new life I wanted to start with...My mother wanted the betrothal to go through and I needed to oblige. For Benjamin." His throat tightened as he trailed off for a second. "For Benjamin I did it. I witnessed firsthand how far my mother was willing to go to secure herself a fortune and I was afraid for my brother's safety. I knew the only way that I was going to give him a better life was when I did what she wanted and then I could get him far away from her.

"Hermione knew that. I begged her to oblige to the marriage for Benjamin's sake. And...Yes, I used her good heart to convince her. But it wasn't all a trick. She's someone important to me. I love her. And...I put her in danger, but I was trying to help her, too. I gave up just as much as she did."

Blaise glared at the dark-haired wizard. "You had nothing to lose from this, Nott."

Deon watched with calculated eyes as the young, accused man's shoulders shook with a delicate, humorless chuckle.

"Alike her, I gave up my hope," Theodore responded. "I gave up my freedom. And I gave up the person that I'm in love with." When he finally looked up, Malfoy was the one graced with Nott's broken and intense black gaze. "Our official engagement was the pact we both willingly made to live through broken hearts together, as friends. She took my ring and made a vow to me."

"You lied to her!" Shouted Blaise. He was tired of Nott's soft spoken words. He was tired of the pathetic emotion that was radiating out of him. He was the one sat on the chair of the accused, he was the one that was guilty. He'd done wrong. And Blaise wanted to make sure he'd pay for it. "That's the only way she would've agreed! Hermione would have never given up her freedom for a fucking kid!"

Theodore ignored that last bit with some effort. He knew that as much as he'd defend Benjamin from the world, Hermione would do so as well for Blaise. The Slytherin was the world's greatest twat, but he loved his sister and she loved him. He loved her so much he'd kill Theodore in order to have her. That's why he hated him, Theo knew that perfectly well. They both did. Hermione hadn't even been told about her tie to the Zabinis and discussions of her ending up with the Notts had already begun. Blaise hated Theodore because he believed he was stealing her before his plans of making lovely, family memories could commence.

"Who is she?" Malfoy spoke again, cutting across Blaise's howls. Draco could easily blind himself with his self-centered anger, alike Zabini, but he knew perfectly well that Hermione _would _indeed give her life for anyone. Especially a child. Potter had been right when he'd said it, even if Draco hadn't wanted to listen to it at the time. He had not wanted to _believe _it. A child's life worth more than the attempt to fight for what he and Hermione had? That was just a blow to his ego.

Nott raised a brow.

"Who's the girl you were so in love with and gave up? Did she know? Did Granger know that she was stealing your chance of romance—someone else's, for that matter?"

The young prisoner looked conflicted and sidetracked. He blinked several times at Draco, looking as if he suddenly realized he made a mistake by mentioning his previous romance. It was a fragile matter and Mister Zabini didn't want it to be played with.

"That's enough," the man said as he stepped closer to the table. "Theodore, I've arranged for your release. The Head Auror should arrive shortly with your belongings and I'll take you to see your brother after."

In unison, Draco and Blaise turned to Mister Zabini. Their eyes were wide and narrowed; appalled and angry.

"What do you mean you've arranged for his release?" But it was only Blaise who dared raise his voice at his father. "Are you out of your mind?! He's the reason Hermione almost died!"

"He was under the Imperius Curse, Blaise. He's innocent," the man replied to his son in an indifferent tone.

"He is not innocent! _He tried to kill my sister!_" He could not believe this. "And you're just going to let him out and expose her to him?! We should be arranging for the death penalty!"

Deon narrowed his own green eyes at Blaise. "It wouldn't be the first time we expose Hermione to someone who previously tried to kill her." Everyone witnessed Malfoy tense, jaw squaring off and looking at Mister Zabini with a lethal, metallic gaze. "And that never was Theodore's intention. He's a lost boy with family duty weighing on his shoulders. How many of us have not done horrible things because of it?"

Mister Zabini sounded calm and reasonable, but only Theodore knew how furious he'd been about the entire situation. He had been the first one Theo had seen after his arrest nine nights ago. The Auror hadn't even placed him on his chair before Mister Zabini had glided across the investigation room and slammed him against the wall. Bloody murder had been staring Nott in the eyes; he'd known Mister Zabini was capable of snapping his neck if he'd liked.

But, as his hands squeezed the boy's throat, stopping the oxygen, he must've seen something in Theodore's gaze that made him let go.

With tension thick in the air, the Aurors had left the room and it'd just been the man and the boy. It took as long as it had with Blaise and Malfoy when Mister Zabini demanded for answers. And Theodore had given them all to him. He had tried his hardest to remain proud, to hold his strength, but he had collapsed the same way he almost had with his Slytherin classmates.

It was so shameful the way he sobbed, but the man had listened intently. After what seemed like an ocean later, Mister Zabini had simply said to him, _'I'm going to help you'_. The man knew, Theodore guessed, what it was like to have a tyrant as a parent and family obligation on your shoulders. And...Resentfully, when Theodore had given him the secret that Abri stole from him, that he gave to Hermione as a bargain plea for their engagement, it all tied together.

The way red flushed beneath Blaise's dark skin, one could tell he was about ready to release a surge of uncontrolled magic like a child throwing a tantrum. His jaw was shut tight, something more than fury in his eyes, more than hate making his fists tremble, but he remained silent. He thrived on being a hypocrite, but how could he argue that? The Zabinis _had _let the Malfoys into Hermione life, pardoning them from all their years of hatred towards her; all in the claim that they were reforming. Nott had been under the _Imperius_, the bastard.

"I will not forgive you for this," hissed Blaise at his father and the prisoner.

He had turned, signaling that he was now ready to leave the investigation room in a furious, classy manner, and Malfoy had risen from his chair to follow. The blonde was not going to sit through this, not without wanting punishment and knowing that the only way Nott was going to get it was if he and his family received it too. It was all fucked up. He thought he was going to feel satisfied in seeing his classmate in binds, surely heading to prison, but instead he got a slap of reality once more.

It pissed him off to the highest degree that he kept losing to Nott.

"Malfoy," called Theodore before he could exit out and follow the steps of the already gone Zabini. With his infamous sneer, the blonde turned to the prisoner. "She does know who I love."

"Theodore." Mister Zabini shook his head, scolding him as he took a seat across from him. "You don't have to."

But he did, really. Theodore really needed to. He didn't owe anyone an explanation, didn't have to say it, but he figured Malfoy was losing something in all of this, too. And maybe it would bring the Slytherin Prince some reassurance—as useless as it would be, that is. But he deserved it, in a way. Malfoy deserved to know what had made Hermione agree, what was keeping them apart besides the binding marriage contract. Even if that meant Nott exposing his vulnerable side.

"Zacharias Smith," said Theodore with a glint of heartbreak in his dark eyes. "Zacharias Smith was the one that changed my life. I'm in love with him."

**X**

There was a humorous smirk on Abri Vivaldi's face as she looked at her surroundings.

She was a woman of a little over five feet tall, skinny and with no physical endurance—she hated exercising, but she had to say she was blessed with a great metabolism—and yet she was chained up like she was a three-hundred pound, monstrous man. Her hands were tied to the armrests of her metallic chair, along with her legs. Her back was glued to the back of her seat, forbidding her from any movement that didn't come from her wiggling fingers or her head. Ridiculous, really, that they had to go to such lengths. They had taken her wand and they fed her a potion that slowed her use of nonverbals. What harm was she, honestly?

The companion next to her, however, looked far less amused by the situation. Her head was held high, nose wrinkled like she smelled something bad. Her pale eyes were aggravated, like someone had done her offense. Regina Nott sunk her nails into the cushion of the armrests of the chair she was imprisoned to; a look on her face that suggested like she was ready to complain about the horrible hospitality.

"_Perché l'hai fatto?_" There was a third woman in the empty hearing room. She was standing before them, a few feet away, and only staring at the woman on the left. "Why did you target my daughter?"

Abri raised her right index finger, leaning her head down, trying to scratch an itch on her nose. Useless. "_Ci sono molte ragioni per cui ho fatto_," she responded, attempting once more to see how far down her head would go. "Just don't take them personal, Ally."

"Don't take them personally?" repeated Allegra Zabini. Her tone was borderline shrill, echoing harshly throughout the empty, tiled room. Her hands shook because of her anger, because of the fire that was turning her composure to ashes. "You almost killed my daughter, Abri."

"And you almost took my money." Abri gave up on scratching her nose and returned the standing woman's gaze. "How was it fair that _bisnonno _was going to leave you whatever was left of the Vivaldi fortune if you're a disgrace to the name? If I worked my entire life to build it?" She smiled again, this time condescending rather than self-amused. "I wanted you to feel the same injustice I felt. Illogical, right; but it happens."

Allegra's red lips pressed into a tight line for a second. Her fingertips tingled; it was her magic vibrating in every inch of her that demanded to be exposed. She wanted to whip out her wand and curse her cousin into an unrecognizable state, to _kill _her. The Aurors had taken her wand, however, and she was left trying to withhold the urge to launch forward and just choke her with her bare hands until she trembled, gasped, and all the oxygen left her body.

But she wasn't a killer. Despite her raging maternal instincts that wanted nothing more than to kill the poisonous snake that had bitten her daughter, Allegra had to remind herself who she was. She had to remind herself who her daughter was—Hermione would not condone murder; regardless of who it was.

"It all works out for you, doesn't it?" Abri still looked casually at her cousin. "You inherit my money, your daughter recovers her strength in a few weeks time, and you learn that Stefano Zabini, along with your deceased sister, was the source of Aria's freedom. My, the joy you must be feeling in that ridiculous heart of yours that there's a chance of mending Deon's family tree. His brother, the one that apparently hated Deon with every fiber of his being, illegally connected the Floo of your old bedroom to Deon's to save his niece. Beautiful. _Assolutamente bellissimo_."

"That's human nature," replied Allegra, with no indication that she was a ticking time bomb. "It's family. You wouldn't understand that, Abri. You were always corrupt, like your parents and our ancestors. You never knew what it was like to love your siblings. That's why you left Cristiano in his enslavement, why you manipulated Giancarlo in believing your brother was dead. It's what made you kill our _bisnonno _and kidnap my daughter."

Abri rolled the signature golden eyes that belonged to the Vivaldis. "Family gets in the way of greater things, Allegra. They're just baggage. You knew that; that's why you ran far with Deon the chance you could. You would've ended up just like me, and you know it. Just how Sienna was becoming before she was killed." There went her maddening smirk again. "She would have killed him too. Sienna confessed of wanting to when she found out I did it. There's plenty of deranged in our family. And, really, you shouldn't concern yourself about the old man's fate, Allegra. You know he deserved it; he sacrificed your sister, after all."

"You're mental, Abri. You really are," sighed Allegra as she crossed her arms over her chest, looking unimpressed at the insanity lacing her cousin's explanations. "The Wizengamot should've made the verdict eighty-five years in an asylum, but I suppose all that time in Azkaban is just the same."

The wicked gleam in the imprisoned Vivaldi grew wilder, along with her smirk. Her teeth sparkled in the light of the hearing room, exposing themselves as fangs rather than a straight set of denture. She tilted her head to the left and said, "I'll take that time to go over the ways I should've killed your daughter. I had the pleasure of slicing her chest open with a letter opener your father kept in the guest room of the fifth floor, you know. It slid right in, ripping through her flesh and past her bones. It nearly got her heart, but that was my mistake. I shouldn't have missed.

"Can you guess how much she screamed? Can you hear it, Ally? Can you begin to imagine the sobs that shook your daughter's body as I inflicted my own, torture spell on her time and time again? It's like being in hell; like being burnt from the inside out, millimeter by excruciating millimeter. Or what of when Giancarlo took her? The way she came to me with shards of glass deep in her spine, piercing and—"

_WHAM._

With Abri's mocking smirk now gone, head tilted from the left to hanging to the right, Allegra retracted the fist she had used to punch her cousin with as she looked down at her. She had crossed the distance between them in a glide, putting her so close to Abri that she could see the scar just above her eyebrow she received when they were children.

"Dementors are no longer used in the Azkaban prison system," muttered Mrs. Zabini with a coldness to her voice that was usually retained by her desire to always be the better person, "but they say you can still feel them in the cells. They say you can feel their coldness, their darkness...That you can feel your brain turn into mush and your soul wrinkle inside of you. Imagine that, Abri...Imagine the freezing, lonely air...The screaming of other prisoners, the _greyness_. When's the last time you saw the sun, Abri? Remember it, because that was the last time you were ever going feel its warmth. You're going to die in Azkaban."

Allegra pulled away from her cousin, rising to all her height. Abri sealed her lips into a line, something flashing in her golden eyes that she hardly noticed Allegra's own satisfied leer.

It was one that lasted less than a minute, however; ending so soon. Allegra turned to the woman on Abri's right, quiet but not forgotten. The woman's pale blue eyes met Allegra's honey-colored ones; cold and detached. But there was a glimmer of fear in them.

"You bewitched your son for money, Regina," it was a statement rather than an incredulous question. "You turned your son into an accomplice of horrible crimes for a bit more of gold. You gave up your _eight year-old_ son as collateral damage." Allegra was appalled, and she was sure her expression was no longer a beautiful mask. "You made your sons into victims of your greed—how can you live with yourself?"

Mrs. Nott said nothing in return. Once more, her head raised higher; signaling that she was keeping her dignity and pride. Whatever she assumed she had, that is.

"Theodore was placed under arrest the same night you were. And as soon as Benjamin was cleared from St. Mungo's, he was placed into an orphanage. That is what's become of your children, Regina. You doomed them to prison and isolation."

Appearing unaffected, Regina remained silent; but there was a knot in her throat that was seemingly visible as she blinked away from the woman in front of her. The nails that had been stabbing the cushioned armrests slackened, her hands gripping them instead as if she was being inflicted with pain.

"Deon bargained for Theodore's release," Allegra told the woman, noticing the behavior. "He'll go back to Hogwarts to finish what's left of his Seventh Year. That's a little over two months that Benjamin is going to remain in an orphanage until his brother is released and custody is handed to him. Two months of loneliness for your eight year-old son, Regina. Can you ever begin to comprehend what awaits them? A mountain of debt and a home in shambles."

"Theodore has the betrothal," snapped the woman, finally looking up again. "I'm not going to mutually disband the contract between our children, Allegra. I will not let Theodore and Benjamin rot in poverty."

"Money isn't everything!" Allegra had lost her cool once more. "Do you honestly believe that your sons would rather be drowning in gold than to know that both their parents are in Azkaban? That they're practically orphans?"

"They are not fond of me, nor were they of Theo."

"You are a horrid mother, Regina Nott," Allegra proclaimed, "but those boys don't hate you. You abandoned them. Because of that, they don't know how to fully love you, but they care. Whatever small desire they have to, that is."

Stepping back another inch from the chairs of imprisonment, Allegra sighed as she kept her eyes on Regina. "You have ten years in Azkaban. I suggest you use the time to reflect on what you did and how to ask for your sons' forgiveness. If you do not repent, you'll have nothing to come back to when you're free."

"I'll come back to Aria Zabini as my daughter-in-law," said Regina. "If I don't get my freedom, Allegra, neither does your daughter."

* * *

**AN: My peeps!  
**

**Well, I know this was a LONG chapter, but you deserve it! I've got to apologize for the amount of time that's taken me to update, but I hope you enjoyed! Just so you know, I have NOT forgotten about this story, nor am I going on hiatus. My free time has just been consumed by school and I haven't found time to write. It's a bummer, but I hope you all stick by me. Love you all!**


	23. The Good and the Almost Good

**Lover of the Light**

**Chapter Twenty-Two: **The Good and the Almost Good**  
**

Her eyes were seeing things differently now. It was as if she'd been going throughout life the past couple of months looking at things through cheap contact lenses. There was a layer of fog between her selfish and stubborn judgment and the actuality of reality in those past months. But now, now she'd lost the lenses, blinked, and _really _started seeing everything around her for the first time in a long time. She started seeing everything with a different light, with brand new eyes.

It wasn't just that the walls around her stopped seeming so dark and imprisoning, but there was something very eccentric and beautiful about the room she now called her bedroom. There was something exciting about the purple walls and their leafy prints; it made her happy. The walls from her bedroom in the Granger household were plain and simple—just like Hermione Granger was. Hermione Granger was confined and proper, calm like the washes of pastel purples and blues on the walls of her muggle home. Upon discovering her true identity as Aria Zabini, Hermione also discovered that she was far more than just that righteous and goody-too-shoes witch she and everyone saw her as. There were subdued parts of her that were selfish, cruel, wrong, passionate, and tragic. And, honestly, she loved that. She loved that she was flawed, that she was consumed by unsteady fire.

Life had a way of twisting things and showing truths that people try to hide or ignore. At the beginning of Life's tricky game, Hermione would have given up her soul in order to stay a Granger; the muggle-born bookworm everyone knew and was comfortable with. She would've fought with anyone in order to cut the tie that linked her to the Zabinis. Of course, Life decided that things were not that simple, that there was something waiting for her beside the Zabinis that she needed to discover. Though she suffered greatly, her new view on things was letting her accept the fact that maybe, after all the passing time, there was a greater lesson in all of it. That maybe she did gain something.

"Why do you think you fell in love?"

Sitting in an armchair that had been configured from one of the many books in a massive bookshelf against the furthest wall of the young mistress' bedroom, Deon Zabini halted the command he was about to give his bishop in the game of Wizard's Chess against his son. The man's emerald eyes appeared confused, contradicting the seriousness that he'd been giving to the game.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

His wife smiled. Allegra was sitting on the left side of their daughter's massive bed; the latter on the right, between her mother and her father. Allegra was snuggled closely to Hermione's side, clutching her hand, running caressing fingertips over her knuckles. There was something territorial about the way she held on, pressed tightly to her daughter's side, but she didn't seem to notice it. She just enjoyed the smile that was highlighting her beautiful face, the happiness in her honey-colored eyes, and the bliss inside the bedroom.

It had been two days since Hermione was discharged from the hospital, ordered to stay in bed for a few days before returning to Hogwarts. The brunette protested, proclaiming loudly that she was perfectly fine to return to school and catch up on her studies, but she'd found that Mister and Mrs. Zabini could be more strict than she anticipated. She knew they would give her anything if she asked for it, but almost losing her, because of her dance with death, her biological parents did not give in. It was only two days, she was on her last, and she found that she wasn't as annoyed as she was letting on.

"Why did you fall in love with me?" Allegra clarified. "Do you ever think about that? How is it that you and I ended up so madly in love with one another that we ran away from duties and our families? It doesn't make sense."

"Of course it doesn't make sense," Deon responded, "I found you incredibly annoying."

Allegra rolled her eyes, remaining quiet, but Blaise was the one that added noise to the room as his mocking laughter echoed around them. He was sitting on an armchair opposite of his father, enjoying the same bliss that his stepmother was thriving on. Just as Hermione had protested upon being able to return to Hogwarts, Blaise did so as well—of course, he did it against not returning. He was not going to return without his sister, rules and Headmistress be damned. And to say that Hermione was aggravated that Blaise was obliged on his request was an understatement, especially since McGonagall approved it in person when she visited Hermione at the hospital a few days back. Blaise had a motive, of course, but there wasn't any need for anyone to know how sentimental it was.

"You were everywhere," Deon continued, "always participating and helping. There was never a time your hand didn't shoot up in the air when a professor asked a question, damning all of us to hear what you had to say when no one wanted to hear it. You challenged everything around you, never just following the norm we were taught as children. You thought you were better than all of us."

Allegra smirked. "I didn't think I was better than all of you, Deon; I knew I was."

"The branch doesn't swing far from the Whomping Willow tree, does it?" Blaise laughed again, more connivingly as he looked at the direction of his sister and stepmother with a taunting leer. "Now you know where your ego comes from, Hermione."

The brunette frowned, but ignored Blaise as she noticed that Deon took his turn to roll his eyes at his wife now. "Yes, well, that's exactly why our marriage still puzzles many. I ignored you, taunted you on occasions, but you were always ready to fight back. When we avoided each other, we did so brilliantly; but when we fought, nothing nor anyone was safe."

"That doesn't answer the question of why you fell in love with me."

"Who says I did? _You _fell in love with me, remember? I still say you bewitched me."

Hermione smiled as she studied Deon. The man was the essence of seriousness. She didn't think he joked, smiled, or laughed. Of course, she knew she was wrong now, and she enjoyed discovering that. There was light in his eyes as he spoke to his wife, and Hermione had never really noticed how smooth and free he was when he did so. He was a contradiction to what he displayed to the public; he was human. He was warm. He was a man in love with his family.

"Oh, please. I didn't even want to sit next to you in our mutual classes, what makes you think I wanted to bewitch you? I was dating Giorgio Fontana, if you recall. He was handsome, sweet, and a muggle-born. You were the complete opposite, _amore_."

"Are you saying I'm not attractive?" Deon frowned. "And why you dated Fontana will always be a mystery to me. He's as bland as Jovi's oatmeal and a total tosser."

"He was compassionate," Allegra defended, "and sensitive. In fact, I hear he's quite the catch still."

Deon pointed his finger at his wife, "You see? That's exactly why I found you so incredibly frustrating. You always find a way to challenge everything. You're never content with leaving things as they are. You make me want to rip my hair out, woman."

"I intrigued you, then?" Allegra was still smirking playfully. "That's why you cornered me and kissed me, isn't it?"

"Did he?" Hermione questioned, speaking for the first time as she was fully entertained about the little history of Deon and Allegra's romance. "What did you do?"

Mrs. Zabini squeezed her daughter's hand. A bolt of happiness kick-started her heart; she adored her daughter's voice and the way her tone held simply curiosity and comfort. "I believe I sent him to the infirmary."

Hermione's eyes were wide with surprise, though she looked very understanding of the action Allegra had chosen to take. Blaise, on the other hand, laughed once more. The idea of Allegra owning his father was too precious; it was a side of them that he never really got to see. He knew that his father was beyond in love with his wife, but the naked eye hardly ever witnessed just how much he did love her and the extent he'd go for her. Or how, above all, her word was law.

"I fell in love with you because you were the breath of fresh air that I needed," Deon spoke, bringing his family away from the image of Allegra cursing him in the hall of their old boarding school in Italy. "I fought against it, of course. I didn't want to be into someone who made me uncomfortable with what I already knew, with someone who was different than I was, but I lost that battle. I fell in love with you because you were something new, and I wanted a new beginning. Everyday, as I'm sure the future will be too, is an adventure with you."

Allegra smiled lovingly at her husband, but their children stopped looking at them and drifted off to somewhere else inside their heads. The words of their father repeated in their minds, pulling on memories and thoughts that were personal and complicated for them. They processed the words as true, as a longing that they hadn't been able to identify before. It was as if they were getting a lesson about love they'd been missing all this time.

"Shit," mumbled Blaise as a blue-eyed blonde flashed in his mind for a moment. "I'm in love."

The adoring and intimate eye-contact between Mister and Mrs. Zabini ended as they both looked over at their eighteen year-old son.

"Blaise, sweetheart, you don't love Daphne Greengrass. I know we've never discussed this before, but that relationship was completely reckless and—"

"Not Greengrass," snapped Blaise as he interrupted Allegra. "It's worse than Greengrass. It's...It's—Salazar, I can't even say it." He shook his head at himself, slowly standing up from his seat. "How did this even happen?" He proceeded to leave, mind churning and trying to push out that blonde witch. The thoughts that had been unleashed were going to make the current night into the longest one since Hermione's kidnap.

Patting Hermione's hand once, Allegra released the hold she had on the brunette as she rose up from the bed. "Deon, you know he's going to drink one of those imported bottles of Whiskey we received last week. He can't get drunk, they're going back to Hogwarts tomorrow."

Deon nodded. "We should talk to him," he offered, the idea sounding strange amongst a full-blooded reserved man and his heir. The idea of conversation, of feelings, amongst a pureblood family was still foreign to anyone who knew that they were all coded to feel and show nothing emotional.

As Mister Zabini pulled out his wand to configure the armchairs back and arrange the mess he and Blaise made earlier, Allegra decided to help Hermione settle in more comfortably on her bed. The woman fluffed her pillows, pulled the sheets up to her chest, tucked her in properly, and handed her the Jane Eyre book that was on the nightstand beside her bed.

"Good night, darling," whispered the woman as she bent down with a smile to press a kiss on the girl's forehead.

Pocketing his wand, Deon approached the bed and copied the kiss onto the girl's forehead Allegra had given her. "If you need anything, don't hesitate on sending Button to us."

Hermione nodded passively, clutching onto her book as she watched Mister and Mrs. Zabini head to the door of her bedroom. Deon had turned the handle of the door, opening it and waiting for his wife to head out first, when suddenly she called, "Mum, Dad—" the two adults halted their movements, frozen to the core for a long second.

They turned around to her, a set of green and a set of gold eyes brimming with surprise, tears, and total overjoy. It was happening; the moment they had been waiting for for eighteen years. A moment they had been wishing for when they brought her back into their lives.

"Thank you," Hermione added with the same joy her parents were reflecting. "Thank you for giving me a new family."

**X**

It was the ending of May and the pressure to get in as much studying as possible before final exams commenced was chaotic. Students rose from bed before the sun even came out, rushing to the empty classrooms, the Great Hall, or anywhere they could sit, open their books, and hunch over all of their notes to cram in as much information as possible. At the signal that June was around the corner, hardly anyone ate. The house tables were scattered with textbooks and parchments, food nibbled on or hardly touched. Ties hung loosely around the neck, white button-ups were untucked, school-robes wrinkled and sometimes not even washed. Self-grooming was not an important matter in the last weeks of school; nor was socializing with friends. Students were only in packs at the ending of May when the overcrowded library was out of tables and personal desks, or when a tutor was teaching a group all at once.

Hogwarts was too hectic at that point in the term to even acknowledge the fact that Hermione Granger was now roaming the corridors; perfectly alive and safe from the kidnap that had occurred in Hogsmeade almost a month prior. Any other day of the school year, students would be huddled together, muttering and staring, curious and eager for the gossip of what really happened. Hermione was thankful for the first time in her school-life that students procrastinated in their studies to pay her any mind...

Of course, she'd be completely content with the peace and the forgetting of her latest drama episode, but then there was a few people who did anything but ignore her. And two in that small circle of people was Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, her best friends. The boys had taken it upon themselves since her return earlier that week to be her shadow. They walked her to the Great Hall for meals, to her classes—even ones they didn't share—to the library, to Gryffindor Tower, and even waited outside the girls lavatory when she needed to wee.

"Where are you going?" inquired Ron as he looked up from his incomprehensible Herbology notes. The sudden noise in their small knit not only made Harry look up from his work, but it also caused a few Ravenclaws around them to shush them rudely.

Hermione sighed, visibly, and quickly, irritated. "I'm going back to the Common Room, I left my Charm notes there."

"Here," Ron said, handing her a stack of wrinkled parchment that he pulled out from his schoolbag, "use mine."

The brunette looked at his offering with judgment. "Thank you for the offer, but I prefer my own."

Before she could even rise up from her seat, Harry reached over and took Hermione's arm in his grasp. "Where did you leave them, 'Mione? I'll go get them."

"Are you serious?" She loved them, of course she did, she cried and embraced them just as tightly when she first saw them, but they were taking things to the extreme. "I am not a child, Harry Potter, nor am I inept. I can go to the Common Room and retrieve the notes on my own!"

The Ravenclaws turned around once more, shushing them more harshly and with deadly expressions.

Hermione rolled her eyes at them, Harry ignored them, and Ron stuck his middle finger out at them.

"We are aware you're perfectly capable to handle yourself, Hermione, but you're still recovering from your attack. We want to make life a little easier on you—"

"That's a first," huffed the girl, interrupting Harry with a profound glare. "I was at war with you two and not once did you go treating me like the damsel in distress. Even after Bellatrix tortured me, we went directly into working on our next idiotically dangerous plan. I'll survive walking to Gryffindor Tower."

The Chosen One returned the glare his best friend was giving him. He was not happy to be reminded of the fact that she took a torture session with a maniac witch for him, nor of the memories of war. He, however, ignored it when he said, "You were attacked inside the castle once, Hermione. I know they've apprehended Abri Vivaldi, but perhaps her accomplice is still roaming the corridors. We're not going to take the chance."

Rubbish. Hermione knew perfectly well who had attacked her so long ago and she knew he wouldn't do it again. Theodore Nott had been under the Imperius Curse when he struck her with the ghastly hex, after all. However, Harry nor Ron needed to know about that matter; they'd blow it out of proportion and kill Nott next time they saw him. That little fact remained amongst the Zabinis, Malfoy, and her.

"Fine," Hermione gave in with a grunt, crossing her arms over her chest. "The notes should be on the table against the wall with the window."

Harry smiled despite knowing that he annoyed the witch. "I'll be about half an hour, though. I've got to speak to Ginny about the final Quidditch game of the year. I'll hurry, I promise."

"Take your time, Harry. I know you haven't seen Ginny in about four hours and that there's going to be some snogging involved. Besides, I'll just go over my present notes."

The brunette watched with a contempt smile pulling the corners of her lips as Harry rose from his seat and made his way to the exit of the library. Counting that he would get distracted with his redheaded girlfriend for a while, Hermione waited three minutes, just to be safe, before she reached for her schoolbag in order to disappear from the library and their presence.

"Don't you dare say anything," she warned Ron as he was about to protest. She started shoving her belongings inside of her bag with haste.

"Hermione—"

"I need my space, Ronald," snapped Hermione. "I'm grateful for your concern, but its driving me mad. I just want to step outside for a moment, take a breath of fresh air, and not be surrounded by people. If its not you or Harry, it's Blaise following after me. I'm lucky he's stuck in detention with McGonagall for starting a fight with Neville today."

With a controlled, freckled expression, Ron handed Hermione her Herbology book. "You're suffocated by us, but you welcome _his _company wholeheartedly."

That made Hermione halt her hurried movements to flee. Her brown eyes met Ron's blue and there was something in the latter's gaze that made her slowly lower herself onto her seat again.

He stared at her with deep concentration, like he was afraid if he blinked she would be gone; along with the courage that was difficult to muster and bring out of hiding. He looked at her like it was now or never, like the moment had finally arrived in which he was allowed to speak truthfully and without setbacks. It was finally the moment, after months of restoration from the war, that Hermione was looking at the real Ron.

And he felt just that, he felt like his former self—except, nothing was like their mutual and connected past. To the core, in that moment, they _were _Hermione and Ron, the truest of friends, but they didn't hold what they once used to. Each was composed of something different now. They were made of different variables, but the answer to the equation was only the same once it was simplified.

"I have to apologize," Ron finally spoke. "I was horrible to you."

"You were grieving," Hermione said what one was supposed to by default, but she'd known that his previous behavior was not excused because of Fred's passing. "I understand."

He looked somewhat amused. She was sparing him from a well-deserved lecture and telling-off, he knew it. But her priorities had shifted now; her mind was long gone from him. "It wasn't okay, 'Mione. I let my brother's death become my excuse for lashing out, for giving up on life and myself. I used it as an excuse to be destructive. I don't know how to handle myself most of the time, and you know it. I've never been in control of my emotions and my actions because I let my anger and jealousy guide me... That's who I was, wasn't it? Just a jealous git. I always wanted what others had, I was never satisfied with what I was given...

"The war left me with far less than what I already possessed. I didn't realize...I didn't _want _to realize that others had lost just as much or far more than I did. That's one of my many flaws, isn't it, Hermione? The point is, I was enraged and I let it consume me. Instead of fixing it, instead of trying to heal, I became a self-centered prat and thought only of myself. I didn't think about George, Mum, Ginny...I didn't think of _you_."

Ron swallowed a knot of sentiments, of regrets and the shells of his locked secrets. He scooted his chair closer to the table, hunched his shoulders as he made sure the nearby Ravenclaws were still occupied by their work. He reached for the brunette's hands when he felt secure, less vulnerable.

"We were in love."

The redhead might've been wary about others overhearing him, but Hermione was thoroughly surprised to hear him speak. She and Ron had been friends for seven years, she came to know everything about him, but she'd never heard him be honest. She'd never heard him say exactly what his actions were exhibiting.

"We had all the potential to be something great, but I ruined it. I crushed it all." He squeezed her hands, feeling their warmth and softness like he had in the past; when they fell asleep with their fingers intertwined or when she searched for comfort. When she searched for their skinny love. "I broke your heart, Hermione, and I'm sorry. I threw our love away because I was too selfish and damaged to care. I'm a bastard, aren't I? Because I loved you, just..."

"Just not enough," she completed for him. "Thank you for apologizing, Ronald. Some part of me is at ease that you did, but another part of me didn't require it. I'd come to this conclusion long ago."

His blue eyes saddened with remorse.

"Ever think that perhaps we just weren't meant to be?" She copied his earlier action and squeezed her fingers, attempting to distract him from his guilt. "We have similarities, but we have far more differences. Opposites can attract, definitely, but...Sometimes things just happen. And it didn't happen for us.

"You're my first love, Ron. That, I'm completely sure about. Regardless of a true romance never budding between us, does not deteriorate from the fact that you hold a special place in my heart. I want the best for you, you know. You're my best friend."

A dotty smile pulled on his lips. "Yeah. You're my best friend, too."

As an air of neutrality, of forgiveness, and of friendship wrapped them, they were unaware of the pair of Slytherins that appeared behind them. The dark-haired Slytherin raised a brow while the blond one frowned in distaste at the clasped hands on the surface of the table. There was just something about Gryffindor touchy-touchy conversations that either Slytherin will never understand.

"I've seen a mandrake with a more attractive smile than that," Malfoy said fluidly, intent on killing the moment between Weasley and Hermione. "Best put it away, Weasel, before someone gets petrified from it."

The brunette looked up, as did the redhead, and there was something close to fate hovering over them. Hermione's coffee-colored eyes started sparkling, overjoyed yet scolding when they found Malfoy's silvery gaze. As for Ron, his blue eyes came to life when he found a matching pair in Pansy Parkinson. And that's when Hermione understood: Ronald had found someone just as broken, with just as much need of fixing, that gave him energy to move forward.

"Well, I'll see you later, 'Mione." Ron rose up from his seat; like he'd been the one previously needing to flee. "Parkinson is going to to help me with my History of Magic."

The Slytherin witch threw Hermione a mocking grin, one that wasn't filled with as much venom as it would've been years ago. Pansy waited almost patiently until the redheaded Gryffindor gathered his belongings and said another goodbye. In sync, they turned and headed towards the doors of the library.

Draco frowned at his retreating classmates. Weasley took Pansy's books from her hands and she migrated a few inches closer to him, appearing as if they were about to walk out with their arms wrapped around one another.

With a laugh, Hermione blinked away from the scene Malfoy was still glaring at to face him. "Ron didn't take History of Magic this year."

"Brilliant," huffed Malfoy as he grabbed a chair and dragged it right beside Hermione's. "A Slytherin/Gryffindor relationship. Just what this world needed."

Hermione rolled her eyes at him half-playfully. With her left hand, she mindlessly opened her notes for show, while her right hand went under the table to enlace her fingers with his. She squeezed tightly, smiled at him like she was seeing the sun for the first time after a treacherous storm.

"Maybe it won't be the only one," she muttered with a beautiful certainty.

Draco watched her as she turned to her notes, that gorgeous smile lighting her up. He was so enchanted by it, so bewitched, like her very essence was calling him with a hypnotic melody he couldn't help but to listen to. He wanted to get lost in that light and sound forever—but there was still the matter that, hidden beneath her tie and blouse, her neck was adorned with Nott's engagement ring.

* * *

**AN: I updated! I updated!  
**

**Granted, it was almost a month late, but hey! That's progress.**

**To all of you who left me beautiful reviews last chapter, when I discussed why I was taking longer than usual to update, I thank you. You guys make my day. You really do.**

**I'm finishing school next week, so I'm expecting to have a lot more time to get around to updating every week like I was used to. So, please, cross your fingers that Life goes easy on me xD.**

**OH! P.S.**

**Sappy chapter, right? Well...almost. We should be going somewhere in the next few, which are the last chapters. Four more to go, I think. **


	24. Lover Dearest

**Lover of the Light**

**Chapter Twenty-Three: **Lover Dearest**  
**

Feeling guilty and miserable is not a foreign combination to him. Theodore Nott was conceived by obligation and rigid affection. He was brought to life by pushes of hatred, raised in greed, showered in indifference, and taught by pureblood history. Guilt and misery came naturally with the things instilled in him. And as he grew up, appearances became his best friend.

Guilt was damning himself for being born, especially when his mother and father pulled him left and right, shoving lectures and names down his throat, refusing to coddle him because respectable, pureblood boys never need the embraces of care. Misery was damning himself for being born, especially because his mother and father did not love him, because they never provided him with a protecting kiss at bedtime or words of praise to give him confidence.

Guilt transformed itself in teenage confusion, especially when he was taught to be a man, taught to want and need a suitable, pureblood witch to provide him with heirs and a hefty amount of gold, but never wanting any girl around him. Misery transformed itself in teenage confusion, especially because he was taught to be a man and he found that he would never fully be one because of his wandering eyes and erratic heartbeats whenever a handsome boy caught his attention...

Things, however, did not remain that simple. He was used to guilt and misery, they were his faithful companions, but then other emotions surfaced; blindsiding him as they forced their way into him.

He met Fate one night in Sixth Year. Misery had been keeping him company that evening as they both hid in a dark crook of the muggle section of the library. The aisle was hardly ever visited, especially during those days of worried knowledge that the Dark Lord was alive, but he'd chose to hide there for those reasons exactly. He'd known then that it was only a matter of time before his father dropped dead or found himself in prison. The scam Theodore Sr. had pulled on his fellow Death Eaters would not go unnoticed, and when that moment came, Theo knew he'd be the one to suffer for it. That was a responsibility—a _burden_—he would not be able to bear.

_'A Slytherin in the muggle section? That's rich.'_

Fate had made her appearance when she walked into the lonely section of books where Theo sat brooding with misery, bringing along with her a tall boy with damp, tousled dirty-blonde hair in his striped pajama bottoms and a black jumper. He had ire in his eyes, but a leer on his lips.

_'A Hufflepuff in the Hospital Wing? That's normal,'_ Theodore had responded to the intruder, pointing the wand that'd been previously resting beside his extended legs.

The blonde had only scoffed. _'Nott, if I hadn't seen your ghastly wand-work in Defense today, I would possibly be scared. But seeing as you are terrible at being a wizard, care to piss off? This is my sulking spot at night.'_

Theodore simply glowered back, keeping silent for a moment. What could he have said? His participation in Defense Against the Dark Arts class had been downright embarrassing that Snape had deducted points and threatened to have him kicked out of Slytherin House if he ever did measly work again. Theo had just sauntered off scowling and blamed it all on his father. The worry of what was going to come, fretting over their draining vaults, had been enough to block his magical abilities.

_'Seriously, Nott, piss off. I've got a day's worth of annoyance to distress from.' _

_ 'Well, you can fuck off somewhere else, little Hufflepuff, because I'm currently occupying this spot.'_

Two minutes and seven seconds. That's all it took for Fate to convince her blonde friend to take a seat on the floor of the muggle section of the library, rest his back against one of the shelves, and glance over at the Slytherin with less than half of the annoyance he'd been previously displaying.

_'Don't make this a habit,_' the Hufflepuff added. _'I already have to share this spot with Granger, I'm not sharing with you, too.'_

Saving grace came to his rescue one disastrous night in Seventh Year. It seemed like the final battle was raging on all around the world, every nook and cranny was exploding, every person was dying or fighting, and nothing was safe. He'd made it out of the castle completely in tact, overjoyed—an unknown emotion—that he was going to live to see another day, wanting only to apparate home and see his little brother, but that never happened. The sons of Death Eaters were called to stand by the Dark Lord's side and he was no one to disobey that order. Nor did he have a say when the Dark Lord decided to punish the Death Eaters that had failed him by sending their heirs into battle for his purification cause. In he went, one of the first teenagers to be called, without even getting a look of sorrow from his father or any hint of regret for what their life had become.

Theodore reacquainted himself with Defeat when he saw him hanging out with Misery by the destroyed and dangerous entrance of the Great Hall. They had been waiting for him patiently, smiled when they saw him, and each one had put an arm around his shoulders to accompany him inside. They had whispered words into his ears, not positive ones, words that ran along the lines of _'until the end, and this is the end, my friend_'. They watched as he cursed whatever and whoever he could. They watched his shotty skills miss people he was supposed to hit, and they watched the result of his lack of concentration when was hit by a rogue spell and was knocked down.

His arm broke when he fell, but that hadn't been the intended damage the hex he took had meant. The effects of the curse was the blood gushing out of his mouth, ears, and nose. It was the internal hemorrhage that was currently releasing all the blood inside him. He could've sworn he and Misery were screaming when Pain joined the party, the bastard, but he couldn't hear himself. His ears, clogged with blood, made everything but the sound of Death's footsteps disappear. When he fell back down after a failed attempt to stand, to move away from the falling bodies and shards that used to be something, was when he met Saving Grace. She came hollering: she cussed Death out, made him go find someone else to bother, she told Misery to tone down the screaming, and she ignored Pain for the moment being, the bitch. But alike a night a year ago, Saving Grace seemed to have had a friend in common with Fate because she was tagging along with a familiar, tall, dirty-blonde boy.

_'I should leave you to die,' _was the first thing the Hufflepuff said when his blue eyes found the dark, bloodshot eyes of Theodore Nott, _'but I doubt I'd be doing the world a favor.'_

The Slytherin had only coughed up blood as a response.

_'Granted, there would be less dimwits in the world, but who am I to make that decision? In any case, you seem like you most likely will get yourself killed on another occasion. Your spell-work really is terrible, Nott.'_

Spewing up more blood, Death peeking his cloaked-covered head from his distance a few feet away, Theo frowned at Saving Grace. Why the hell had she brought the irritating Hufflepuff with her? Honestly, she did not make a good first impression.

_'Or maybe you just don't want to kill anyone,'_ the Hufflepuff spoke again, but this time it was a serious murmur. _'Susan Bones always says there's more to a person than what they show...Maybe you're not just a bigoted, idiotic twat.'_

And before Nott decided to either swallow or spit out the blood that pooled in his mouth to shout at Saving Grace for ruining his death by bringing the Hufflepuff with her, the blonde boy pulled out his wand and started chanting something that burned him from the inside, but was sucking the blood back to where it belonged.

Being best friends with Guilt and Misery, familiar with Fate and Saving Grace, Theodore didn't meet Hope until the fourth day of his stay in St. Mungo's. He had been lying in bed, cuddled with Boredom, when she knocked on the door of his room. She didn't wait for his call; she opened the door and stuck her head in and smiled. She was beautiful—her only flaw was that she was friends with that boy that he kept coming across.

_'You again?'_ Theodore huffed, narrowing his dark eyes at the figure that had just entered his room.

The Hufflepuff rolled his sapphire-colored eyes and said nothing as he shut the door behind him. His appearance seemed to improve every time he walked into Nott's hospital room. The bruising on his exposed skin was now a faded yellow rather than a disgusting green, the scar that ran from his left temple to the corner of his eye was thinner, and his nose had corrected itself from its swollen state. He now stood there with his messy, dirty-blonde hair perfectly washed, he wore his usual black jumper and black jeans; tying it all together with the usual smirk on his face that was incredibly annoying every single time Theodore saw it.

_'Who else?'_ retorted the Hufflepuff. _'It's not like anyone else is hurrying to come and see you.'_

Theo said nothing, just stuck his finger out crudely and pulled himself up onto a sitting position.

_'Your Healer said you're responding well to the new treatment. Not one internal hemorrhage since yesterday morning. That's good.'_

_'I haven't seen you since last time I got one,'_ Nott said with clear disdain._ 'Maybe you should leave, I think you bring them on. Oh...Ow...Hurry...Ow...I'm dying! Get out!'_

The Hufflepuff snorted in his intolerant attitude as the Slytherin clutched onto his chest dramatically.

Seeing as the blonde hadn't made an action that indicated that he was going to fuck off, Theodore grunted with building frustration. _'Why do you keep coming back? Do Hufflepuffs have a need to take care of the sick? You're not getting a plaque of community service out of coming here, you know.'_

_'I saved your life, you ungrateful tosser,'_ snapped the blonde. _'It might be hard for you to believe, but decent people care for the well-being of other people. I saved you from drowning in your own pool of blood, the least I could do is make sure that my effort wasn't wasted and that you're still living. Not that that did much good. You're so aggravating, Nott, that I honestly wish I would've left you to become a corpse.'_

Boredom left his side only to get replaced by Truth. Truth placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing, and reminding him of something that Truth kept singing to him every night since he arrived at the hospital. And the lyrics to the song was the repeated no; no one visited him. His mother was preoccupied with his father's arrest, his brother was probably trapped in his bedroom under the care of a house-elf, and he had no real friends that cared enough to even ask what had become of him.

_'You should've left me, then,'_ responded Nott in a tone he hated, one that was caused by the influence of Truth and his melody of reality. _'No one else noticed me. I was as good as gone. You shouldn't have bothered.'_

_'Yeah, but I did notice and I did bother.'_ Leaving his place by the door of the hospital room, the Hufflepuff approached the Slytherin in calms steps._ 'I saw when you got hit, I saw the blood coming out, and I had the chance to look away and follow after my best friend, but I didn't...I didn't because I saw that you weren't trying. I don't know whether or not you wanted to fight, but I saw that you were waiting to die.'_

Theodore did not utter anything back. It was hard for him to recall that night because, maybe, maybe somewhere inside his head, he did want to die. He wasn't a complete idiot with magic, he was actually talented in various aspects, but he'd been done with everything for years. Maybe there had been an expectation, an open invitation for Death to come and visit him whenever he wanted that led him not to try. His Shielding Charms were never strong enough; he always purposely left holes in them. That was the truth. He welcomed death from the start.

_'You're a complete twat, Nott,'_ continued the Hufflepuff,_ 'but so am I. I'm stubborn, righteous, a coward, easily angered and annoyed, but I have friends. If it wasn't for them, I reckon I'd be in your place...What am I saying is, everyone deserves a friend. That's why I come back.'_

The blonde had made it beside Nott's bedside and extended his hand out. The Slytherin watched it with a frown. He knew that Truth was an arrogantly accurate bastard, but he didn't need to pity him in the process. So when he was about to reject the Hufflepuff, show him how much of a git he could be, Hope cleared her throat from the corner where she watched and scowled expectantly at him. Two minutes and seven seconds later, Nott was shaking hands with the Hufflepuff as Hope laughed joyfully and Truth nodded with approval.

Like a cliche of all cliches, Love came skipping down a hill to introduce herself one summer day. He was sitting under a lilac tree, glancing briefly at the petals raining down and washing the grassy green of the ground with its color. He had his back pressed against the bark of the tree, looking out ahead of the open field and at the sun that was still beaming with its full potential. He had never found nature beautiful before, but that day he realized that he could see what all the fuss was about. It was breathtakingly simple and easy. Exactly what he yearned his life to be.

_'You're staying for dinner, aren't you?'_

Theodore had turned away from watching the sun and the way it ignited the sky, only to find himself staring at a mirrored image in the eyes of the Hufflepuff sitting next to him. _'I can't,'_ he replied hesitantly, uncomfortably. The blonde still had that intolerant gleam to his eyes, but they had an uncanny similarity to the sky during summertime. They were blue, blue, blue. They were intense and vibrant, calling out to anyone that would look. They even reflected the tints of the lilac petals on the grass and the orange gleam of the sun up above.

They were enchanting, Theodore had come to realize that. One of the many things he'd come to realize about the Hufflepuff—things that were driving him crazy.

'_Why not?'_ asked the blonde impatiently.

'_I've had dinner here all week. Your parents probably think that I'm homeless and you're doing the noble deed of helping out a starving bloke. I'm neither, so stop treating me like I'm a charity case.'_

The Hufflepuff chuckled mockingly. _'Nott, I would try to save something that had actual potential of making a difference. You'd be the worst charity case in history. Besides, my parents have been nothing but welcoming. The more the merrier, remember?'_

'_Will Bones be joining us, then? I haven't seen her all week. I'm starting to think that I've upset her and that's why she isn't coming around.' _

'_Susan's just...busy,_' said the blonde after a short second.

'_With what?'_ scoffed Theo. _'You're her only friend. I doubt she has anything else going on.'_

'_Can we not talk about Susan?'_

'_So she _is _upset with me? Look, I know I made fun of her crush on Finnegan, but it was just a joke. I'll apologize or whatever.'_

'_You're just brilliant at forgiveness and friendship,_' the Hufflepuff said sarcastically.

'_I owe it all to you.'_ Theodore took his hand and clasped the blonde's shoulder, taking his triumphant turn to smirk. _'I'll fix it, mate. Don't worry.'_

'_You don't need to fix anything! Susan is not mad, Nott. She's keeping away for another reason.'_

'_Don't tell me she finally snagged Finnegan, then? I know I gave her banter over it, but she honestly can do much better than the Gryffindor.' _

'_You're impossible. I don't know why I bother.'_

'_I've been telling you that since St. Mungo's,' _Theodore told him casually. _'Now that I think of it, perhaps _you're_ the charity case. Since we've made acquaintance, I've definitely improved your life. I know you saved me from dying and all, but what if I'm just that tad of cheer you needed? Face it, you would've spent your summer locked in your house or as a third wheel to Bones and Finnegan.'_

He was being difficult on purpose, that was obvious. Were it any other person, Theo was certain he would've gotten a hex to his manly-bits or a punch to the jaw. But with the Hufflepuff...What he got from him was way off his assumptions. The blonde smacked Theo's hand away from his shoulder, but held onto it. He pulled it with a force, and then...And then he kissed him. His right hand was clutching the Slytherin's and his left hand had flown to the latter's face and held on roughly. It was a paradox, his hold on him, because the way his lips were moving was completely gentle with just a tiny hint of nervousness.

Theo's eyes were wide open, his ears only heard the echo of his banging heart inside his chest that was bruising his bones with its velocity and force. A part of him wanted to kiss back, but he'd suddenly found that he did not know how. He'd kissed two girls before and a couples of boys before, he'd heard that he wasn't bad at it, but in that moment he couldn't remember how kissing worked.

What was he supposed to do? What was he supposed to feel if he'd never felt anything quite like that before?

The Hufflepuff released Theo's captive lips when Love launched herself at them and made them fall away from each other.

'_Go home, then. You're not invited to dinner tonight, you clueless twat.' _That was all the blonde said as he stood from the grass, narrowing his blue eyes at the Slytherin, and then marched off.

Love squealed loudly, waving a hand at the Hufflepuff's back as she and Theo watched him leave.

She rested her head on his lap, and all Theodore could remember after that was frowning at her and saying, _'Nice to meet you, you importune bitch.'_

'_I'm importune?'_ she had laughed. _'Fate was the one that set all this up. I'm just moving things along.'_

Fate, Saving Grace, Hope, Love—they were all cruel bitches. What gave them the bloody right to march into his life and start moving things around? He was comfortable with the way things were set up. He was used to guilt and misery and the other occasional emotions. He was used to seeing things through foggy darkness; he didn't ask for their light to help him see. At least without them, at least if he had never met them, he would have foreseen the upcoming events and not be so surprised by them. It wouldn't have hurt as powerfully as it did when he found that he was betrothed to Aria Zabini—better known as Hermione Granger—and that he had to leave the Hufflepuff. He wouldn't have hurt as strongly, as terribly as he had when he realized that his aspirations and promises were always meant to be void; that they were never going to come true.

The night that marked the two week countdown before returning to Hogwarts was when he became estranged with all of the four bitches that decided to light candles along his path and paint him a starry night rather than the stormy one he was accustomed to see...

'_What do you mean we can't see each other anymore?'_

'_It means what it means,'_ said Theodore to the blonde as he stuck closely to the fireplace inside the latter's bedroom. _'We can't be together anymore.'_

It was past midnight that night, a sleepover between the Hufflepuff and the Slytherin was not uncommon by then. They spent every second of every day together since their first kiss. It was that simple and that easy. There was no questioning and no fighting. It was just right, just close to perfect.

Awaiting for that routine, the blonde had not expecting to hear what was leaving Nott's mouth.

'_Why?'_ Though the Hufflepuff's voice was collected, there were flashes of panic in his gaze. _'Is it because I want to tell my parents? Theo, they wouldn't care. They've known for ages that I'm—'_

'_I found someone else.' _He was a bastard. He should've never said it the way he had, he should've never made it a lie. But a lie was what it had to be. If he didn't lie to him, Theodore knew that the blonde would never let him leave. One thing that was absolutely certain was the fact that the Hufflepuff was stubborn: he would fight it all if Theodore told him the real reason of why that night was their goodbye.

'_You...You what?'_

'_Found someone else,'_ repeated the Slytherin. _'Maybe we have been spending too much time together, you're absolutely slow these days.'_

The blonde glared, standing from his bed. _'You did not find someone else, Nott. You've spent all your time with me. There _can't_ be anyone else. This is about me wanting to tell people we're together, isn't it? You're scared.'_

'_No. I'm just done here.' _He saw Guilt fly in through the window of the bedroom, ready to return to his side without a second thought. _'I've had a nice time and all, but I'm sort of committed to this person now. I think she's the one.'_

The Hufflepuff's jaw squared off, tensing like he was preparing himself to take a punch. His blue eyes, however, were being introduced to Pain and Heartbreak. Fear appeared to make his acquaintance, too.

'_It's serious, you know. I...I just wanted you to know in person. You deserve that much, don't you?'_

'_...You said you loved me,'_ the Hufflepuff muttered, his palms now into fists.

He had a grip of Floo Powder in his possession from the moment he came through the fireplace. He hadn't known how anything was going to work, he'd just known it was going to be the hardest thing he would ever do. That's why he was prepared before he even arrived. He had his escape at the ready.

'_I lied,'_ Theodore mumbled, throwing in the powder and letting the flames eat him up. He left Love and Hope crying, Fate and Saving Grace clutching onto them, trying to calm them, as Heartbreak started beating the Hufflepuff without remorse.

Since then, Misery has been the only friend that he traveled with...

"Didn't I tell you this is my sulking spot?"

He had been clunking his head on the bookshelf behind him, eyes closed, recalling the events in his life that changed everything, when he heard that voice. He remained silent for a moment, trying to decide if the voice came from his memory or if it really was just a few measly feet away.

One: Its not real.

Two: Its too close.

Three: There was only one way to find out.

He opened his eyes and found that dirty-blonde boy scowling at him from midway of the muggle section of the library. Instead of being accompanied by Fate, the old acquaintance he hadn't seen in months, Theodore saw that the boy was ahead of a pair of students; one Gryffindor and one Slytherin.

_Bang, bang, bang_ went his heart. It played that hectic, unstable, painfully captivating song that it had written and only played in the presence of the boy with the blue eyes. If the Hufflepuff didn't consume him all, then maybe he would've been able to say something coherent. Or anything at all, really.

He had to sink his top teeth into his bottom lip and bite down. He wouldn't be broken Theodore Nott if he wasn't always on the verge of a breakdown, would he? His misery, his guilt, his memories, the blonde's presence—it all drove him mad with pain.

"I told him the truth." Theodore had closed his eyes, but he knew who had spoken and even how her face looked when she said it. He'd spent so much time with her in past weeks that he learned her habits; learned all the emotions that ran her.

Everything remained dark. "...You shouldn't have."

"He deserved to know."

"But I didn't deserve for him to know."

She sighed. He didn't have to take a wild guess to know that she was torn between frustration and sympathy. "It wasn't fair, Theo. It wasn't fair that you had to give up everything—that you had to give _him _up—because of this stupid contract. You're living with this heartache out of obligation. You're suffering, watching and feeling him hate you, when all you had to do was tell him the truth. All you had to do was tell him that you're marrying me because it was set before our birth, because you were threatened, because your brother's happiness depends on—"

"Why are you doing this, Hermione?!" In a flash, Theodore was on his feet and using his now open black eyes as daggers to stab right through the Gryffindor's. His hands were shaking, legs wobbling, heart beating frantically, mind rushing, and he still wanted to cry. Pathetic. Absolutely pathetic. "Why are you making this worse for me?!"

The anguish in Theodore's voice and eyes was more than evident; it reached out and swatted the other three students. It also wrapped around them, making them feel the smallest shred of the powerful shocks of misery, of loneliness, of madness that the Slytherin felt on an everyday basis.

"Why did you bring him here when I can't have him?!" Tears had appeared now and betrayed him.

Because of his tears, Hermione's own eyes filled with some, too. She bit her quivering lip, feeling terrible.

"Nott." But she wasn't the one to speak. He spoke. Zacharias Smith spoke. His tone was small, firm, yet on the verge of breaking and dissolving into his own version of misery. "I knew...I didn't know it was something as fucked up as a betrothal, but I knew it was something grave to make you leave. I didn't hate you. I was enraged, of course, but that's because you were hiding something. You should've told me, you twat."

Theodore took a step back from the blonde Hufflepuff, shaking his head. "Don't," he warned. "Don't look at me like that. Don't you both stand there and act like you're doing me a kindness. Don't act like I deserve this!"

In unison, Hermione and Zacharias took a step forward and opened their mouths to say,"Theo—"

"You haven't spoken to me in weeks, and you're doing this?!" Theodore interrupted them. For a moment, he locked eyes with Hermione only. "I sent you to your death multiple times, Hermione! Are we ever going to talk about _that_?!"

The brunette witch tightened her lips into a line. The forgotten Slytherin in the background, her half-brother, stiffened and glared with intensity at his fellow house-mate. "I know perfectly well why you did it. I would've done it, too, Theo. For my brother, for my family...I would've done it, too."

"You can't be that forgiving, Hermione," snapped Nott. But he knew opposite of that. He knew, in fact, that Hermione was composed of forgiveness and second chances. She was light. "Don't act the saint."

"Don't act the foe!" Hermione frowned at her betrothed. "Stop seeing yourself as the monster, and start realizing that you're the victim in all of this. Open your eyes, Theo, and see that you were manipulated by your mother and my aunt into all of this. You didn't deserve this. You didn't deserve to give up love and accept the hate. You were _never _the one to blame!"

The tears that had been building in his sockets finally fell. They raced down his cheeks in their own speed, in their own steady rush. Theodore felt the breakdown, he recognized all the signs, all the pain fighting to get out, but then someone took his shaking left hand into theirs and distracted him from it.

Zacharias Smith was holding on tightly to his fingers, looking him square in those black eyes of his that held more beauty than what most people thought darkness consisted of.

"I can't have you," whispered Theodore to the blonde. He willed himself not to clutch his hand back. "The magic gets stronger everyday, Zach. I have to be with her."

"Worry about that later," spoke Hermione from her distance. "If I can have moments with Malfoy, you can have a moment with Zacharias."

"What exactly does _that _mean?" Cutting across through all the drama and sentiment, Blaise furrowed his brows and stared skeptically at his sister. "Specifically, what do these moments with Malfoy consist of? And why are you having moments with the tosser, anyway? You're an engaged woman!"

"For goodness sake, Blaise," huffed Hermione, "get your head out of the gutter, would you?"

"I will not! You know why? Because Malfoy lived in the gutter for years! He might seem like he's a decent bloke now, but I can assure you that the git is the landlord of the bloody gutter!"

Rolling her eyes at her brother, Hermione graced Theodore and Zacharias with a gentle smile. "I died briefly days ago, and the one thing that I couldn't get out of my head, the one thing that I learned from it, is that all I wanted to do is be with the one that makes me...that makes everything better and brighter. Enjoy your moment. Don't let the betrothal interfere with what you feel."

With her kind smile, Hermione raised her palm and gave them a gesture of goodbye. Before she could turn on her heels, signaling that it was okay to leave the premises, she narrowed her eyes dangerously at Blaise and nodded towards the Hufflepuff and Slytherin a few feet from them.

Blaise sighed. "I'm sorry for being a bloody barbarian," he grumbled. "You had no control over your actions. And...you didn't deserve everything I said."

Theodore stared back indifferently at his house-mate. Something else was being processed in his head, and it was nothing that Zabini was saying, but what his sister had previously mentioned.

He nodded at Nott. "Oh," he turned back to them as Hermione began to make her leave with a satisfied look in her eyes. "For the record, I would've supported you if you came out of the broomstick closet at any time. But, mate, a _Hufflepuff_? You can do much better."

Zacharias glared, pulling out his wand, but Zabini was already swaggering away. A mocking laughter echoed behind him.

"Your future brother-in-law is a bigger twat than you are, Theo."

"She was dead." Theodore turned rapidly to the Hufflepuff, his neck cracking from the aggressive gesture. "She was dead!"

He was warned not to, but not heeding those words of caution, Theodore slammed Zacharias onto the bookshelf and snogged him to test the theory his mind had just created.

**X**

"This is our last weekend at Hogwarts and you're spending it locked in here?" In front of the mirror, like usual, Blaise Zabini glanced briefly and uncaring at the shirtless blonde sitting on his four-poster with two open bottles of Butterbeer on his nightstand and an open book on his lap. "Pathetic, mate. Even Goyle is out and about tonight."

"There's nothing better to do," and just as uncaring as Zabini, Draco Malfoy was barely paying attention to his fellow Slytherin as he continued reading the left page of his book.

Adjusting the collar of his patterned button-up, Blaise zeroed in on the wrinkle on the left shoulder. He frowned. The bloody house-elves weren't as reliable as they were years before. Just because they were being paid now did not mean that they could do a half-assed work and leave wrinkles on his clothing. Next time he saw Hermione he was going to give her a talking to. This was unacceptable.

"Old hag McGonagall is allowing all Seventh Years to go to Hogsmeade until curfew, and you're telling me there's nothing better to do? Did you not hear about the clandestine party the Gryffindors are having at the Hog's Head? It's suppose to be mental."

At that, Malfoy stopped reading his book to raise a judging, pale eyebrow at Zabini. "You're attending a _Gryffindor _party? Bloody hell, Zabini. You're actually friends with Potter and the Weasel now, aren't you?"

"Don't insult me, Malfoy. We are not friends. We simply have a mutual understanding that—"

"Next thing you're going to tell me is that the reason you've been mumbling and trying everything in your wardrobe is because you're meeting a girl there. And at this rate, that girl might just be Loony Lovegood."

It took Blaise almost three seconds before actually reacting. And in that time, in the time that it took him to turn, looking like he'd been smacked across the face several times or like someone told him that the shiny shoes he was wearing weren't actually made out of authentic dragon skin, Malfoy took the opportunity to smirk and then mask it.

"We understand that Hermione is your sister and that it's demanded of you to get along with the Dimwit Duo and their Gryffindor mascots, but _that _nutter? Hermione can't stand her most days, why do you? Hanging about with her is ruining your reputation. You're either testing a theory, or you're looking to serve community service. If it's the latter, you can always volunteer at the Ministry. Don't inflict yourself with the humiliation that comes with being around the Ravenclaw."

Malfoy felt a sharp jab in his ribcage but he ignored. He instead chose to release his smirk and hateful eyes to openly provoke Zabini. "For fuck sakes, Zabini, don't tell me you shagged Loony Lovegood? Is she not leaving you alone, mate? You don't have to be nice to this one. Do what you've done with all the others: tell them they're not important and that you can do—"

"Shut the fuck up, Malfoy!" Shouting, Zabini pulled out his wand from the right pocket of his perfectly ironed trousers at the same time that Malfoy felt a harsher sting on his side.

"There's no one here, Zabini. No one heard that you shagged Lovegood. Don't be ashamed, your secret is safe with me."

A jet of light escaped Blaise's wand, but it was blocked by an instant bubble of protection that appeared around Malfoy's four-poster. The dark-skinned Slytherin was so enraged, so ready to murder, that his mind did not process the fact that Malfoy's nonverbal abilities had never extended beyond the ability to open or close doors and cause a tickle to his human targets. He should've not been able to protect himself, especially since his wand was flat beside the bottles of Butterbeer.

"I did not shag Lovegood, you fucking crude prat! We're friends! And even if I had—even if my attempts to get a lay with her actually worked—I wouldn't ditch her! She's not like the others! She's important and special!" He took a threatening step forward, wand at the ready to hex. "And she's _mine_! Watch your words when it comes to her, Malfoy, or you won't live to see another day."

With that warning, with an almighty glare in his emerald eyes and a hex that smashed the bottles of Butterbeer, Blaise stormed out of his dormitory.

"You are unbelievable." A cloak appeared on the floor of the dormitory, revealing a very pissed off brunette.

Malfoy rolled his eyes at her. "You told me to find out if he was interested in Lovegood or not. I got you your answer, didn't I?"

"You didn't have to be a complete prick about it! Luna is an incredible girl, not the common trash you and Blaise are accustomed to around Slytherin House. Never talk about her that way again, Malfoy."

With the wand she'd previously been using as her weapon to stab Malfoy with, the brunette cleaned the mess her brother had made. Malfoy's lips were tugged into a dark smirk, but his silver eyes watched her carefully; like they were afraid they were going to miss one of her every movements if he blinked or didn't pay the perfect amount of attention. "Parkinson and Greengrass are going to be extremely flattered when they hear what you think of them."

Hermione was still scowling at the Slytherin as she picked up the Invisibility Cloak from the floor. "I'm off. I cannot be around you when you're being a git."

"I'm the git?" Draco was frowning now, too. "Your idiot of a brother ruined our night in, Hermione. If anyone is to blame, blame the high-maintenance twat that had you hiding for over an hour while he tried to match his socks with the color of his hair."

"I wouldn't have had to hide if you would've accepted the invitation to the pub Ginny gave us earlier. There's nothing wrong with my friends, Malfoy."

"_Everything_ is wrong with your friends."

With her patience destroyed, Hermione mimicked Zabini's glare and turned for the door. But just before she could reach it and twist the metal handle, Draco was out of his bed and picking her up like she was a feather. "Why are you so annoyed, Hermione?" He asked with a serious expression as he yanked the Invisibility Cloak from her fingers and tossed it onto Goyle's empty bed. "You were quite content with me before Zabini marched in."

Sighing, Hermione allowed herself to be laid on Malfoy's mattress without protest. She waited until he joined her side, picking up his silky emerald sheets and tucking them both in comfortably. He was a cold-hearted bastard most of the time, by appearance distant and serious, but there was something that melted his iciness when they were in close proximity. She never voiced it, but she knew that he loved to have her in his bed. There was nothing adulterous about it; he just genuinely showed who he really was and how much he needed her when they were both lying together, her head on his chest and his arms around her body tightly.

The brunette rolled onto her right side to cuddle closer to him, placing her head on his exposed chest. "We don't have long before this all ends, Draco," she whispered, familiar tears accumulating. "And all we have been doing is hiding. My friends know about us, but beyond that we're always going to be a secret. We're never going to be a truth."

"A secret is not necessarily a lie," he responded tensely. "Nothing about you and I is a lie, Hermione. None of this changes just because my ring is not the one on your finger."

She clutched her palms tightly, hiding them from him under his sheets. Figuratively, the engagement ring was on, but in reality Hermione had it hidden at the very bottom of her trunk.

With a knot in her throat, the witch managed to choke out a, "I'm not ready to say goodbye yet, Malfoy...I'm not ready to accept that we're running low on moments. I don't want to accept the fact that in three weeks time I'm going to be a married woman. I _can't_."

The thought of her in a white dress, walking down the aisle, Nott waiting at the end of it, only caused rage and raw pain to travel through his veins. All along he knew that his time with her was borrowed, that she didn't belong to him, that she was going to end up laying beside someone else on a bed that wasn't only theirs. He knew from the beginning of this beautiful disaster that he was going to lose. He was never going to get her. He was never going to end up with her: holding her hand in public was a step they were never going to take, snogging her properly was never going to occur a second time, sleeping beside her would only come in his dreams, and he was never going to legally bind his soul with hers.

Once again, he was on the losing side of war.

"Ron suggested for Nott and I to move away after the wedding," Hermione spoke in murmurs again. "He knows I will never bear to have you so near...I don't know if that is the wisest thing he has ever said or if he's as clueless as always."

For a moment, the shortest on a clock but the longest of his life, he focused on her caressing fingertips drawing circles on his shapely stomach. How could something so simple cause such bliss and devastation at the same time? How could he feel fully alive, yet on the verge of a horrific death?

"You don't have to go anywhere," he responded, avoiding her eyes that flickered to stare at him. "There's no reason why it's you and Nott that have to depart. Your entire life is in Britain, Hermione. Your friends, the Zabinis, the Grangers...It makes sense that I should be the one to leave."

A selfless act from Draco Malfoy was rare. How she hoped this act of unnatural kindness did not involve both their broken hearts.

"...You'd do that?"

"If things were different, I'd drive you out of Britain. But the reality is that you're the only thing keeping me here. Once you take Nott up as a husband, there's no reason for me to stay. I'm not welcomed hardly anywhere, not with the Dark Mark burned on my skin and the memories of the fucked up actions I decided to take. Having you would make me stay, losing you is the only initiative to leave that I've got."

She stopped drawing invisible patterns on his skin. "Draco," she breathed so brokenly that his silver eyes found their way towards her brown ones. "Draco, if I never have another moment to say it...If this is our last night together, I want you to know that I...that I...that I lo—"

_Bang._

Kicking the door of the dormitory open, Theodore Nott appeared with wild and frantic vibrations. His dark eyes were wide, his chest heaving like he'd run miles to get there.

"Don't you knock, Nott?"

Returning the annoyance, Theodore rolled his eyes at the blonde Slytherin. "Forget my lack of manners, and I'll forget that you're in bed with my betrothed."

Hermione's cheeks were pink. Previously she had been on the verge of sobbing, her broken heart throbbing and sending pain everywhere inside her chest, but now she felt embarrassed and in an awkward predicament. "It's not what it looks like, Theo. We were just going to sleep—actually sleep."

"Yeah, your virginal card is shortly going to get smacked off the table, Hermione." Walking towards them, Theodore raised his right hand in the air so the two students on the bed could see the archive that his fingers were harshly gripping.

"What is that?" The brunette asked as she sat up.

"The result of your death." Handing her the folder of documents, for the first time in a long time, Theodore saw Fate come out of underneath Malfoy's bed and smile at him.

Hermione's heart stopped as she opened the folder. "This...This is our betrothal contract."

Theodore nodded. "The binding magic of the betrothal can only be terminated if one of the participants dies or if both parents of the two participants agree to mutually cancel the contract. You died in St. Mungo's, Hermione. For ten minutes, Aria Zabini was dead."

"But...But I'm alive." She glanced up at him, all her senses were going into overdrive. "They brought me back, Theodore. I'm alive."

"But you died as Aria Zabini, Hermione. The person legally bound to this betrothal died. You were taken to the hospital by your Zabini relatives, identified as an heir and you died as her. When they brought you back, when they discharged you from the hospital, they released you as_ Hermione Granger_. By law, Aria died and Hermione survived. This contract is not valid anymore, Hermione."

Thunderous thoughts were ricocheting off every corner of her mind. Every brain cell, every coherent process of thought was spinning in circles. She couldn't concentrate on anything. She couldn't even breathe.

"To assure this, I spent all morning in a prison cell with my mother and our lawyer." Hermione was in a frenzy, so Theodore turned to Malfoy. If he was as unstable as the brunette, the Slytherin Prince masked it perfectly. "If Hermione ever decided to legally take the Zabini name, the contract would resurrect itself. We would be set to marry like before. The only honorable thing I could ever do for her is give her her freedom and a chance to publicly accept her biological family. And the kindest thing my mother could ever do for me is to sign that contract and release me from that obligation. And she did."

She spotted Regina Nott's sharp signature on the document, right beside Deon Zabini's and a stamp of legal approval.

Gripping onto the archive, Hermione brought it to her face and she began to sob. The echoes of her crying bounced off the cold walls of Malfoy's dormitory, but by the way that Theo's friend Fate was bowing, taking credit for the joyous moment that was a few seconds from exploding, both Slytherin boys knew that she the emotions that were making her sob was that of relief, hope, and happiness.

They were finally free.

* * *

**AN: TADA!**


	25. The Way the Story Ends

**Lover of the Light**

**Chapter Twenty-Four: **The Way the Story Ends**  
**

It was not uncommon for her to feel left out in a crowd. It mattered not if she walked with her head held high, holier-than-thou attitude, strutting along with expensive clothes and shoes, or if she sulked with her head down, the collar of her coat turned up, blending in with the grey and gloomy shades of the typical British weather. There was a time in her life when she went full-speed to make sure that everyone saw her, that everyone knew who she was, how much better and exquisite she was, but that had changed three years ago. The reality was that she was lost in the crowd, drowning in the shadows, and no one stopped along their merry paths to help her.

Typically, Pansy did perfectly well surviving the crowd. She was an excellent swimmer, equipped to keep herself from completely sinking down into the well-known depths of despair by just splashing about, not making a single noise for help to avoid the judging eyes of people. Today, on this specific day, however, she found that the ocean of people was pulling her down. She was looking for an anchor—her very own protective anchor, made from her own blood and flesh—but it wasn't there. She scouted and scouted, splashing hysterically, swallowing water, eyes stinging, bones cramping up, cries crawling their way up her throat at the same time the waves of people started pushing her towards the dark, deep end.

This time, she knew, she was going to drown if she didn't act fast.

Pansy swam with whatever strength she had left and barely managed to make it to the nearest lavatory. She had no time to inspect it, to make sure that she was alone, that there weren't anymore treacherous waves of people that would end up destroying her. She closed the door behind her, fell to the floor, exhausted, and began gasping for air. Soon enough, that desperate inhaling turned into distraught sobbing.

Misery, abandonment, fury, fear, inferiority, shame, and outrage mixed together in a perfect emotional explosion. Tears rushed out of her eyes, tracing down her cheeks like waterfalls and collecting like small ponds on the floor. All those emotions, all those she practiced to keep hidden, were scratching and cutting her from the inside out with vengeance. They were taking their revenge for all the submerging she did, for all those times that she needed to confront them, but instead chose to evade and ignore them when they we demanding attention.

No one can run from reality; not even Slytherin witches with all their years of training to not feel anything at all. Sooner or later, they feel. And they feel it _all_; intensely and unforgivingly.

"Parkinson?"

Carefully and quietly, a brunette peeked her head in from outside of the lavatory. It took her less than a second to spot the dark-haired witch, and it took her absolutely no time at all to approach her.

"Parkinson, are you—"

Hermione Granger's voice was replaced within the wall of the girls lavatory when the deafening, heartbreaking cries of Pansy Parkinson echoed off with a force that knocked the Gryffindor down onto her knees and palms.

How did Hermione Granger have it all? How was it fair that the Gryffindor Princess, the righteous and bloody know-it-all, had absolutely everything? Was it karma? Was Granger really that loyal, that sweet, that noble that the world decided to pay her in kind? Even when things seemed terrible for her, Granger rose up mightier than ever. But what about _her_? Was Pansy really that much of a horrible, conniving, cowardly person that she had nothing at all? That she deserved nothing at all? Was there no chance of redemption, did she not get a chance to work for a better life?

Isn't she worth anything at all?

She isn't, is she? Maybe that was the reality that she has been denying and hiding from all this time. She isn't even worth a single, rusty sickle. No one wanted her.

That's why_ they left her_.

All her life she was prepped for a future filled with obligation and honor. She was spoon-fed codes to live by, thoughts to think, actions to make, and superiority to feel. She was told that she was a princess. She was told that due to her impeccable pedigree, to the pure blood running through her veins that'd been cultivated for centuries, that she was worth absolutely every shiny galleon in the world. They told her she was precious, irreplaceable. All of it was nothing but a gigantic lie. All those times they told her that she was their pride, the best thing that they'd ever done, and...

After the Dark Lord's fall, her father went straight to Azkaban. There was no trial, no bargain deals, no attempts to offer a reduction of sentence. For his servitude to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, for his public attacks on muggle-borns, blood-traitors and muggles, it was a lifetime of prison for Patrick Parkinson.

It was inevitable, really. She'd known that the moment Potter won the war—the reason why she had been ready to hand him over to the Dark Lord in the midst of the battle. Better Potter than her father, she had believed then; partially now, even. In the end, it was clear that all Death Eaters were going to be locked and chained up without hesitation. It had done her father no good when he fled with fellow comrades, nor when he mortally injured an Auror when they raided their secure location.

What she hadn't foreseen was that Uma Parkinson was going to flee Britain the moment her husband became a fugitive.

There was a letter once a week from her mother when she left. It was nothing of importance, mindless chatter as if they were having tea together, sulking in an awkward atmosphere, as if she wasn't talking to her daughter but a stranger she'd just acquainted. When Pansy replied to one of her letters, telling her of her father's arrest, the letters became scarce. Every time Pansy asked when she was returning, her mother avoided the question. Ultimately, she ignored Pansy all together.

She hadn't heard from her mother in eight months.

For a year, Pansy lived alone and neglected. There were no letters from her mother, limited replies from her father, and no relatives alive to worry about her well-being. There was no one in the world that had her in their thoughts. In the holidays during the school year, a cryptic, empty mansion waited for her. Her only interaction with society was during school, or with her loyal house-elf that locked herself away in the cage of loneliness beside her. She was eighteen, but she felt like a lost, terrified five year-old child that was desperately searching for her parents in the middle of a dark thunderstorm in unknown territory.

"She's not here," cried Pansy when she felt a hand on her back.

Hermione rubbed circles with her left palm on the girl's back as she brought herself a little closer to her.

"She needed to be here, but she's not." With tears still flowing, with the havoc those overdue, dangerous emotions caused on her being, reflecting off her face, making her eyes burn and irritated, Pansy glared hopelessly at the brunette. "_Why isn't she here?!_"

When Ron told her about Parkinson, when he tried explaining to her and Harry why he was so protective of her, why he followed after her, why there was affection in his eyes for her, Hermione had just assumed Ron was naive as always and wasn't seeing things clearly. He painted an image of a fragile and neglected Parkinson, lonely and terrified to the core that was hard to believe. Hermione and Harry had imagined and known to an extent that Parkinson had demons of her own to sort out, but to feel _that _amount of pain? Nor Harry or Hermione could have ever pictured the girl to be completely human.

Parkinson had become someone else, that was certain all year long, but she still retained parts of her former self that made others dubious on just how altering the war had been for her. She had stopped bullying people, but she still laughed with malice on occasions. She stopped glaring at people like they were the scum of the earth, but she still frowned or kept a mask of cruel indifference. She had become tolerant to be around, but that'd been the warning sign that something was wrong and no one saw it.

Regardless of her old tendencies, whether they all had faded away or became altered in some sense, the truth was that all this year Parkinson had been living a lie. For an entire year the girl had been alone; suffering, miserable, and scared.

"She should be here!" Pansy removed her hands from the tiled flooring of the lavatory, rising up a few inches and looking at the brunette through blurred eyes.

"Parkinson—"

"I sent her the notice ages ago," the Slytherin girl interrupted the Gryffindor, her red and puffy blue eyes staring questioningly at the girl who had all the answers, "but she still didn't show! It's my graduation day, how can she not be here?! She's my mother, for fuck sakes!"

Hermione's lips were shut. Here was Pansy Parkinson, completely vulnerable and on the verge of flooding the room with her tears. Comforting one of her old tormentors wasn't the problem, it was that she didn't know what to say. What could she say? What could she tell a girl who was sobbing with a broken heart because her mother had abandoned her?

"I thought that I was going to walk into the Great Hall and see her..." Pansy's voice was nothing but broken whispers now. "I thought that after months of ignoring my letters, of not contacting me, that she'd still be a mother and show up...That she'd be here to celebrate my accomplishments, that she'd be waiting with a proud smile on her face...But all I found was empty seats beside my name of guests."

Shoving Hermione's hand away from her, Pansy stood from the floor and kicked the door of the toilet cubicle nearest to her. "She left me alone!" She kicked another stall. "She left me alone when Father fled! She left me alone to deal with his incarceration, to watch the Ministry ransack our home, when piles and piles of legal papers started being owled to me, and when I was scared to leave the house! I'm just a girl; _why did she do this to me?!_"

Pansy spun away from the stalls, her tortured blue eyes finding the brown ones of Hermione. "I needed her, Granger! My life fell apart and I just needed someone to tell me that it was going to be okay after everything went to shit! I didn't deserve this! I didn't!" She placed her hands on her chest like she wanted to claw out her heart for the disaster it was causing. Her shoulders shook with more force, her cries loud and unbearable to hear.

The Gryffindor watched her with painful sympathy, her eyes watering, too.

"Why doesn't she love me?" Pansy gripped her black ceremonial robes as she shed more waves of desperation. "Why doesn't she want me?"

That was it. Hermione rushed to her and embraced her with the speed and strength she was known to have. She wrapped her tightly in her arms, squeezing her.

"Why doesn't anyone love me?" Far from being collected or proud, Pansy sobbed onto the girl's shoulder with petty resignation.

"You're wrong, Park—Pansy," Hermione responded in a careful whisper. "I...I don't know what to tell you about your mother, but I do know that you are never not loved." She pulled away slightly to look into her eyes. "People care about you."

More tears fell from Pansy. "They don't, Granger. People love you, they avoid me like I'm the foulest creature. After...After everything that I've done, the way that I am..."

"You're important to Daphne Greengrass," reminded the brunette. "Despite the odd way in which you two show it, she loves you. You're her best friend. If you haven't noticed, Pansy, she's the only girl who has stuck by you all this year. I've seen her loyally by you, joining you when you're eating alone, when others ignore you. People from other Houses are nicer to you and you to them, that's something... People are seeing you as someone different, Pansy. And Blaise? He cares about you. I know my brother; he wouldn't keep you close if he didn't care. The same with Malfoy. And Ron—"

"Ron loves you."

In unison, Hermione and Pansy turned to the door of the girls lavatory. Only Pansy was surprised to see Potter's famous sidekick, yet both girls had their distinctive eyes wide with sentiment at what had just left the redhead's mouth.

Ron cleared his throat, ears suddenly as red as his hair as a few more seconds ticked by in silence. "I...erm...I care enough about you to have my best friend follow you here to check on you after I saw you storm away from the Great Hall. And...I love you enough to come here myself to tell you that...that you're important."

Hermione stepped away from the Slytherin witch, becoming a shadow. The brunette headed for the exit, but not before she stopped beside her best friend. She looked into his blue eyes and saw a sincere serenity—mixed with a dash of nervousness—and she smiled reassuringly at him. He was finally going for something he wanted, she was proud of that.

After getting a squeeze to his fingers from Hermione, waiting until she departed, Ron took a deep breath and commanded his feet to approach the dark-haired girl that waited with tears in her eyes a few feet from him.

"I'm scared," Pansy murmured, her hands shaking at her sides as the redheaded Gryffindor was close enough that she could smell his unique scent of freshly mown grass, new parchment, and spearmint toothpaste. That smell that stayed in her bedroom in that lonely mansion she's forced to call home, in the jumper he made her wear one night they hid in the grounds together and that she now called hers. "She's really...She's really never coming back, Weasley."

Daring himself to place his hands on her sides, Ron also used that same daring courage to stare her deeply in the eyes with unwavering resolution. "Good," he spoke. "She doesn't deserve you, Parkinson. You're...You're fantastic. And you have me. I promised you that you'll never be alone, and I intend to keep that promise. _You have me_, Parkinson."

"Not forever," she hissed at him, a sudden anger taking up her facial features and in the tremble of her voice. "You'll get better soon, Weasley, and you'll find someone as noble, loyal, and...someone better than me. What will I have then?"

"There's no one better than you," he retorted back, his forehead creasing. "There's only one Pansy Parkinson, and as messed up as she is, that's the girl I want. I'm not going anywhere."

More tears fell from her terrified eyes, splashing on her pale cheeks. Nothing was said for a moment; in a moment when Ron took his thumbs and rubbed away the revealing tears.

She didn't know how this thing with Weasley was going to work out when she first took notice of his demons at the start of the year. She was intrigued by it, how someone so good-hearted could become so twisted and warped by tragedy. She was intrigued by his loneliness because it called out for hers. Inside the massive castle, amongst a wide population of people, on different sides of House tables, Pansy's misery found his. She hadn't taught it twice, she'd just known that he was going to need her as much as she was going to need him. At the start of it all, she knew that he needed real help, but she was selfish and neglected enough to grip onto whatever fucked up soul was left to keep her company.

In the end she found that she'd truly helped him and that, unexpectedly, he was all the company she craved. There was a calmness, an ease, a sense of security that only he could give her.

It was a revelation she'd never been able to voice.

"Don't ever leave me," but she finally found words with sentiment forming together and escaping from her lips. "I couldn't possibly bear it if you did, Ron."

"I won't," he told her as his hands gently traveled down to the sides of her wet cheeks and held on. "And you'll never leave me, Pansy?"

"I don't think I can ever have a life without you."

With the ridiculous smile she recalled making fun of years before, Pansy now allowed her heart to melt and start mending itself when Ron looked at her like she was something special. He leaned into her and kissed her like she was worth something. She couldn't help but to wrap her arms around his neck and let him destroy her fears with his lips, his stupid Gryffindor loyalty, and his new-found hope.

One day she will feel strong and worth more than gold, and she'll know it was because of Ron Weasley and the bond they found in being broken together.

**X**

_Cling. Cling. Cling._

"I propose a toast." Standing from a posh, cream-colored armchair, Jenoah Zabini looked around from inside one of the many sitting rooms in his older brother's mansion. Though it was the second time that he'd ever stepped foot onto Deon's property, it felt absolutely right. It felt like somewhere he was welcomed with a full heart.

This time—unlike the first time when the mansion was crammed with hundreds of people to celebrate Aria Zabini's return—he felt a sense of comfort. He felt as if he was inside his brother's _home_, not another building used as a ball location. He looked around and spotted his parents, old and gray, powerful and poised, and noticed a sparkle in their eyes. In his mother's emerald gaze, specifically, he saw hope and peace. She'd spent almost twenty years kept away from her child, pretending that Deon never existed, but now she had a sense of a new beginning. His father, well, that's a different matter. Though the man had to be practically begged to forgive and forget what happened so long ago, though his dark eyes were indifferent, Jenoah knew that by him being present in Deon's home was sign that he too was ready for a new beginning.

Bianca was seated not far from him, a happy and beautiful smile pulling on her lips. It was the first time in years that Jenoah saw sincerity behind it and it pleased his heart that his little sister was finally getting the product of her faith. Standing behind her, a thick glass of alcohol in his grip, was Stefano. His black eyes reflected the same mask of coolness that their father wore at all times, one that Stefano had spent all his life imitating and trying to perfect. But there was something that he couldn't hide behind his gaze of nothingness, behind his tensed shoulders, and that was the truth. A truth that was fairly simple: Stefano loved Deon and cared for the family he had created in Britain. Though Stefano had been the one who'd been more enraged and betrayed by Deon's choice to flee Italy, publicly disgracing him from the family, it was clear that personally and very intimately_, _Deon would always be his brother.

The reason why Stefano hid his hurt behind anger was a story that only he knew. Jenoah could only hope that maybe one day Deon would get to hear it when Stefano chose to reveal it so that both could work on healing old wounds. It was a longshot, seeing as how serious and emotionally-unattached the two men were when it came to one another; still Jenoah hoped his big brothers would one day learn the power of words.

Referring to old wounds, Theodore and Benjamin Nott were also present inside the Zabini mansion. They sat close together, one brother protecting another, loving each other, clinging onto each other like there was no one else in the room. All in silence, all in three or four inches of separation between their seats, the Nott brothers were an example of a family in shambles that could not be torn apart because of their loyalty and affection for one another. It was brotherhood at its finest. Jenoah admired that for such young wizards.

Another thing that the Zabini man admired was the presence of Jennifer and Richard Granger, his niece's adoptive, muggle parents. They sat beside the famous Harry Potter and Ron Weasley.

It was a surprise when he waltz into Deon's home to find that the sitting room of Allegra's choice had been occupied by several other people. He had assumed that the celebration was going to be kept strictly within the family, a private affair, but when he was introduced and greeted by the other occupants, he found that it _was _a family matter. It was his niece's family, blood related and not.

Jenoah could only guess how difficult it was for Deon to have the man and woman who raised his daughter for eighteen years in such a close proximity. Deon's thoughts must be torturous in some level, knowing that these two muggles are the ones whom his daughter respects and loves dearly, who saw her grow up and turn into the courageous, noble woman that she is, and who were the only parents she'd ever known. It must've taken real power to allow their presence, but it must've taken even more _cajones _to have the muggles present along with the company at hand. It was a risky play Deon took, especially because he knew that Domenico and Roma Zabini—his own ancient, bigoted parents—were going to be present.

In this throng of odd guests, Jenoah didn't miss that blonde, silver-eyed teenage boy who had never left his niece's hospital bed the day she escaped her kidnappers. Jenoah knew he was a Malfoy, clear by the stormy-colored orbs and that severely serious expression. He'd been curious for the young Malfoy's presence, but he'd been extremely intrigued to know why there had been such hopelessness within him. He had looked like someone on the verge of death, then; like he was living his last minutes of life in complete and utter agony. It was even more intriguing that now, beside his parents, that he was the exact opposite. Draco Malfoy looked fully alive; thriving on every second like he was breathing in golden bliss.

"I propose a toast," repeated Jenoah, "for the young _ragazzi _in this room who have completed seven years of schooling at Hogwarts School."

Glasses rose up in the air.

"It's technically eight," there was a whimsical voice in the air that halted the cheers. "Blaise, Theodore, and Parkinson have actually spent eight years at Hogwarts. Of course, I was taken by Death Eaters halfway through my Sixth Year, but I think it—"

"Ignore her." Putting a hand over Luna Lovegood's mouth, Blaise smiled sheepishly at every person giving the blonde witch their attention. "She just came back from a mad-tea drinking party with her father. She's drunk."

Harry frowned at the Slytherin's direction. "She is not," he snapped. "Dirigible plum tea does not have alcohol in it, Zabini."

"Potter, just shut the—_Ow!_" Removing his hand from Luna's mouth, Blaise gaped at her. "You bit me, Lovegood!"

Luna smiled charmingly at Blaise for a quick second before turning to Harry. "Oh, it's all good fun, Harry. He fancies me and I was being imprudent in front of his pureblood family and guests."

Pansy, who was also invited to the Zabini mansion—who'd been invited to spend the week with Granger, actually—grinned mockingly along with Ron. They waited until Nott and Potter were smirking too until they all sent them towards the blushing Zabini.

Stuttering, Blaise only managed a huff of panicked air before someone else spoke.

"You are Xenophilius Lovegood's daughter, correct?" Roma Zabini, the matriarch of the original Zabini family, spoke and it caused a thick silence throughout the sitting room. Luna responded and the woman said, "you have his personality, but you look incredibly like your mother."

"Estella Nubis." When Domenico Zabini spoke, it was as if everyone was hearing Merlin himself speak. The guests stopped breathing and focused their hearing on him. It wasn't that the elderly man was something extraordinary, but his aura personified intimidating power. Everything about him demanded silence and respect; right down from every line on his dark facial features, his white-as-snow hair, and his black-as-night gaze. "Yes, I see Estella in her."

"Ella," breathed Bianca. "I remember her. She worked in our laboratories for years. She was seven months pregnant last time she worked for us. What a beautiful, sweet woman. We missed her terribly when she followed Xenophilius to Britain."

"She was an exceptional woman, absolutely ingenious."

"And a risk-taker," added Domenico after his wife. "We knew one day her experiments were going to be too much. What a terrible loss, _carissima _Luna. She was absolute talent."

Luna smiled at the elder wizard. "_Grazie_."

Snapping his neck back and forth between his grandparents and the Ravenclaw witch, Blaise settled on staring at his father with appalled eyes. "You knew Luna's mother worked for our family?"

"She went to school with us," replied Deon. "She was the daughter of the Head Healer in the hospital our family donates to. She was the only British girl in our boarding school, and the only one with a knack for setting things on fire—purposely, that is."

"All in the name of research she used to say," finished Jenoah.

"Is that why you offered me an internship in your hospital, Mister Zabini?" Luna's voice sounded calmly around the sitting room, asking for Jenoah's attention.

Jenoah had his teddy-bear smile on. "You were highly recommended by your Headmistress, Miss Lovegood. Of course, I won't have you experimenting with spells and chemicals, but working with plants and things of that nature."

"For the summer it seems appropriate, thank you. After, however, I have arranged to go exploring the Amazonas for rare creatures."

Blaise grinned as he put an arm around Luna's shoulder. "My girlfriend, an adventurer."

"Oh, she's your girlfriend now, is she?" asked Deon with parental mock.

"Of course she—"

"I haven't decided," interrupted the Ravenclaw before the Slytherin boy beside her could affirm his father's question. "He hasn't asked properly yet. Ginny and Hermione say that these things have to have a formality to it, so I'm still waiting."

As Blaise pulled on a horrified expression that caused many to burst out laughing at his expense, the sitting room was invaded by two women that had made a hasty departure more than thirty minutes ago. It took a few seconds for the laughter to simmer down and the two witches to be noticed.

"What is it?" Deon was the first to ask as he zeroed in on their matching somber expressions.

Allegra, ever the poised beauty, had an arm carefully around her daughter's shoulders. It was protective and supportive. The look in the woman's golden eyes was determined for everyone to see, but her husband, knowing her to the core as he did, could see a nervous anticipation in them as well. He knew something important must've been discussed and decided.

Deon expected his wife's voice to fill the room and solve the mystery that was being created, but it was Hermione's that was heard. She was nervous and concerned, that was clear by the way she swallowed and her hands shook.

"Though today is a day of celebration, I specifically wanted all of you present because you all mean something to me. You are all my family, no matter how distant, near, good, or bad. You are all people that I know I'm going to have in my life for a long time and I...I decided something yesterday night that could be an impact on you as much as it will be for me. It is my reality, one that I share with you."

"You're not moving back to the muggle world, are you?" asked Blaise. "I will never forgive you if you are, Hermione. I was planning a holiday to Isle of Hydra for us—which, none of you are invited to." He turned and eyed at his classmates.

The brunette took a deep breath. "No, Blaise, it's not. It's..."

"It's okay, _tesoro_," whispered Allegra to her daughter with assurance. "If you cannot, it is your choice."

But Hermione was not one to back down. When Hermione had a thought, when she had the initiative to do something, she did it. Hermione followed things right to the very end. So, with a deep breath, collecting her courage, she looked back at the people waiting for her to speak. "I've decided to remove the Glamour Charm."

Silence spread through the sitting room like fiendfyre.

Harry and Ron stared back at their best friend with confusion, hesitance, and a slight fear. They loved her as they always have, the revelation of her actually being a Zabini never changed anything because she was still who she was, who they loved, but this? Would this be different? If she lost the shell of Hermione Granger, would the inside still be that kind soul they adored?

Mister and Mrs. Granger looked saddened—especially Richard Granger. Though the muggle man had always known that Hermione was not theirs, he found great joy as he watched her grow to resemble his wife. By blood they were nothing, but by heart she was his little girl. He and his wife could never have children so they thrived on Hermione. They loved her like she was every bit theirs; and she was. Nonetheless, with all the honesty in his chest, Mister Granger forgot about her true identity when he looked into his daughter's brown eyes and saw his wife's beauty. Mrs. Granger, though she did feel slightly saddened by the decision, knew well enough that it was something important. Hermione had to deal with being Aria Zabini, but the girl must've never forgotten that every time she looked into the mirror it was a lie. She needed this.

Draco, silent and still, found Hermione's brown eyes and stared into them with great intensity. He had fallen for those eyes: the way they glittered with golden specks in the sunlight, the rich and very unique shade of brown they had, the thick lashes that rimmed them, their doe-like shape...

Blaise had waited ages for the day that Hermione finally stripped every bit of her past life to embrace her true title. It was selfish of him, but he had spent years longing the day that his sister returned fully. He knew Hermione had learned to accept her role in their family, but by holding on to the fictional appearance she would never entirely be her rightful self.

"Are you certain about this, Hermione?" The last person who was expected to ask this question asked it. Deon rose from his seat and walked to his wife and daughter. He looked at them with grave emerald eyes."You don't have to do this, you know that."

Hermione smiled dimly at the man. "I know that, Dad, but I...I want to know. And you and Allegra deserve this, too."

The man shook his head. "We have you with us now, Hermione. We don't require you to give this up. We just want you to be happy."

Hearing that perfectly well, Hermione still decided to look at her biological mother and say, "I'm ready."

Allegra pulled her arm from around her daughter's shoulders, moving a few steps to her right. She didn't miss Deon's conflicted and outraged gaze when she pulled out her wand. She knew that Deon would never do anything to compromise Hermione's happiness. They had lost her too many times for him to lose her over something like this. She knew that he didn't care about her physical appearance, what mattered was that she was finally with them. Allegra just didn't feel exactly the same...

Maybe it was selfish of her—and it most likely was—but she had dreamt of this day for eighteen years. When she had been pregnant with her daughter, she had a vision that she would get to see her child grow, that she would get to fawn over her beauty, brag about how Aria resembled the Vivaldi family, tease Deon about their daughter having his prominent features... She never got that. She wasn't looking nor wanting for Hermione to be what she had once craved, Hermione was perfection in her full glory, but Allegra did wonder.

With her tickling anticipation, the woman raised her wand and said, "_Finite Incantatem_."

Soon enough, Hermione was wrapped in dozens of thin, golden threads. They weaved around her as if to form a bubble, as if they were molding around her to form themselves to her every curve. The golden threads illuminated themselves, burning bright. It made it difficult to see as they swirled around her.

As soon as it had started, the counter-spell ended.

With eyes closed, Hermione Granger disappeared and in her place stood Aria Zabini. Where Hermione had been five feet four, Aria was relatively taller by four inches. Where Hermione had pale skin with a dash of freckles across her nose, Aria had inherited Allegra's golden skin. She had also gotten her mother's full, red-tint lips. When it came to noses, Hermione's was small and Aria's was of average size and well defined. Aria had something else that Hermione Granger didn't: high cheek bones and jet-black, wavy hair that she had inherited from Deon.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione opened her eyes. Long gone were those brown eyes that everyone present had memorized. Aria Zabini had inherited features of both her parents. Her eyes were wide, yet cat-shaped; she had thick, black eyelashes that made it seem like she had rimmed her eyes with eyeliner. When it came to the color, they were bright and intense like true emeralds, yet, surrounding the pupils, was a shade of gold that belonged to Allegra.

No one moved when Hermione walked over to the table where the tea was set up. They just watched her with care as she picked up the metallic tray and raised it to her face.

The new girl gasped. She was almost knocked down in surprise at how different she was. She knew exactly how a Glamour Charm, yet Hermione had believed like a child that she would still retain most of her old self. It cut her to see that Hermione Granger was gone.

"I hate it."

Hermione turned to the person who had spoken, her half-brother. "Yeah?"

Blaise nodded. "It's rubbish."

"Blaise," hissed Deon, "don't be—"

"It's true!" Blaise left Luna's side and walked over to his sister. "Don't get me wrong, Hermione, Aria's beautiful, but...It's not you. You are properly giving me the creeps."

"I thought you wanted this?" Even her voice was different. It wasn't all-knowing, bossy, and light. Aria had the voice of a confident young woman with years of experience and sass under her belt. It was so odd that she cringed when she heard herself.

Blaise thought he did. He had waited to see Aria Zabini in the flesh—but the flesh was wrong. In another life, if the story had been different, then he would've grown up having the sister that was right before him. If the story had happened like Allegra and Deon had planned, if no Dark Lord business had occurred, then he would've learned to love the girl with the green eyes. But the truth was that Aria Zabini did not exist. Not by flesh, that is. He had learned to love and care for Hermione Granger, that short, bossy, and bushy-haired brunette that was far wiser than anyone he knew and would ever know.

Clearing her throat, Allegra also walked towards her daughter. There was a knot in her throat that she was trying hard to swallow. The emotion that was consuming her was that of a heartbroken mother. The girl, Aria Zabini, was dazzling, everything she had envisioned when she was pregnant—it just wasn't right. She saw the true appearance of her daughter, but she didn't know her.

Aria Zabini was the lie. Hermione Granger was the truth.

"You can go back."

Hermione turned to the woman. "I can learn to embrace this, Mum. For you."

"Do not do it for me, _tesoro_," murmured Allegra, looking deep into the green eyes of Aria. She found that she was looking for the noble, brown eyes of Hermione Granger. "It had been a dream of mine to see you off the Glamour Charm, but I realize now that _this is not _what makes you our daughter. You might not have your father's eyes, his hair, or my complexion...But that does not matter. Your happiness is what does."

Hermione could not lie, she felt instantly relieved. She had decided to remove the charm because she thought it was time she showed everyone close to her who she really was. She thought that the Zabinis deserved to see their daughter in the flesh. She thought she might finally reveal herself and find that the appearance and the title of Aria Zabini would finally complete something. But she had already been complete.

"Thank you," Hermione said to Allegra.

"No, thank you," replied the woman sweetly.

"We love you just the way you are," added Deon. And this time, it was his wand that was pointed at their daughter. Once again, the thin, golden threads proceeded to wrap around Aria to replace her with the rightful witch that they needed.

**X**

He was gazing at the midnight-blue sky with some concentration. He noticed something different about this night to all the other ones. There was once a time, before and during the war, when the sky was nothing but a blanket of darkness that reflected his life. It was empty and void of light, of hope. Nor the moon or the stars came out often in those days. It was almost as if they were punishing the world with shallow darkness for the havoc and murder-spree that was being spread from every corner of the planet. After the war, little by little, stars starting popping out in different spots in the sky. They weren't bright, but they were there. It was as if they were slowly forgiving those that survived at their own pace. In these current days of life, the sky was filled with stars and the giant, silver light of the moon. Nothing about the night sky caused him misery. On the contrary, the night sky lit up with intensity, with beauty, that he was starting to embrace.

"Well, that was beautiful."

Stirring by his left side, Draco found that his gorgeous brunette was extending to him the book she had just completed. "How was that beautiful? It was tragic."

Hermione huffed as she rolled onto his chest. "How was that tragic? It was a wonderful love story."

"Jane Eyre is not a love story."

The brunette further frowned. "Of course _you _would not see it as such. You've got no experience when it comes to love and relationships. Jane Eyre, though about many more compelling themes than just romance, is ultimately about love. There was no real tragedy, was there? She ended up with Rochester."

"Yeah, but Rochester lost his eyesight and a limb. Where's the beauty in that?"

Hermione raised herself off Malfoy's chest, not without pinching it in the process. "Jane fled Thornfield manor, leaving behind Rochester, gaining a possibility of a new romance with a man that adored her from the very start, but her love for Rochester was greater than herself. She returned to him and found him in his crippled state and chose to stay anyway. You know what that says about love, Malfoy? That it overcomes _everything_. Love is far more powerful than anything else in this world."

Draco sat himself upright as well. "Give me an example."

"Mrs. Potter gave her—"

"About romantic love, Hermione; not Potter's stupid, overhyped story."

She reached and pinched his arm. "Harry's story is not stupid, you ferret. It is the bases of all that is good."

Draco returned the pinch. "I don't care."

Hermione glared at him. "You're unbelievable. After all that has happened, I thought you could at least put aside your dislike for my friends. I know you are no longer that prejudice boy that I pitied with all my being, but you are still a git, Malfoy. Would it kill you to just be amicable about the entire thing?"

It probably would kill him, but Draco decided not to say that. He knew from experience, the shameful experience, that if you pushed the witch too far she'd retaliate with a killer punch. "If I am so hopeless," he questioned, "then why are you here with me?"

With resolution, Hermione raised her chin high enough as if she was about to start debating on a subject she was thoroughly passionate about. "Because you are not always so hopeless," she confessed. "You irritate me beyond belief sometimes, Malfoy, but you also intrigue me more than anyone else. There is a lot about you that I still need to discover, but I'm addicted to what I have learned. Every bit of you—though, perhaps not the prat side of you—is bewitching. You're tainted by darkness, but there is so much light in you. And...You make me unbelievably happy. I don't know what I'd do without you."

Draco knew he was hearing the absolute truth from Hermione's mouth, but what made him feel and accept it as reality was the emotions reflecting off her brown eyes. There was so much hope in them, so much affection, care, sincerity, love...

He took his left hand and cupped the side of her face. His thumb traced gently over a rogue freckle on her cheek. "I learned to respect and admire you for your talents, wisdom, and nobility. There is so much about you that is incredible, and I am glad that I got a chance to truly see it. I was rotting away inside after the war. I didn't know how I was going to survive with all the guilt and misery I carried, nor how I was going to spend another year at Hogwarts without wanting to off myself...But you came along, so bright and put together, and I'd spent the summer thinking of you, thinking that if I apologized to you then maybe I'd get some clarity, some grand epiphany...

"I got my forgiveness, but I was more confused than ever. You brought things out of me that I didn't know I had. You were just my friend, then. Maybe that was it. Maybe it was your friendship that started changing everything. Because the more I was near you, the more we spoke, the more I got to know you...I realized I wasn't entirely useless. There was a part of me that longed for something amazing and pure...You were exactly that.

"I wanted no part in the feelings that were starting to grow. The last thing I needed was to fall for you, but it was pointless. I put up a fight, but it was far from a strong one. Secretly, _grudgingly_, I let those feelings develop. The first time I kissed you I swore the universe died and came back to life with endless possibilities for me. Of course, that lasted about a minute. I hated you right after that."

Tears had begun to glaze over Hermione's eyes. There was a knot in her throat, a flood of emotions balling together as shudders licked her skin as the chilly night air blew. She knew that was she felt for Malfoy was returned, but she had never heard so much sincerity and concrete evidence from him before. She had felt it, sensed it every time they were together, but this was by far the greatest moment among them. His voice was the sound that had become the music of her heart.

"If I had any self respect, I would've fucked off and left you alone to deal with your wedding engagement to Nott," continued the blonde, still keeping his profound eye-contact with the brunette. He was seeing the magnitude of the stars in her orbs. "I was far gone at that point. I needed you. You had crawled your way over the walls I've spent my entire life building. The more I tried to forget about you, the more I tried to go back to hating you, the more I realized that it was never going to happen. You came back to me for a while, but right before my world could reignite itself, you were taken.

"Something happened to me that time you were missing. A revelation of a grand fucking magnitude took over me when I they said you had died. I realized that you were the light...you were my life."

His soul and heart were out, being highlighted by the moonlight for Hermione to see with clear vision. Every detail about what he kept silent, every little crack and scar, was visible for her to see. He was bearing his truths out. He was taking a step forward, ready to embark on something he had never embarked on before: _a good life_.

He whispered, "'I have for the first time found what I can truly love—I have found you. You are my sympathy—my better self, my good angel—I am bound to you with a strong attachment'."

The tears that had collected in Hermione's eyes fell. They splashed on her cheeks, marking traces of the first time in a long time that she shed tears of complete happiness. She stared right into those metallic orbs, so hauntingly beautiful and perfect, before she too reached to touch his face.

The gap that separated the graduated Gryffindor and Slytherin was closed by both in a swift, but smooth motion. Their lips met, and alike the first time they kissed, the sky burst into fireworks. The stars sparkled with glittering lights and the moon glowed with neon colors that were shot out in streams. Their entire world, as they moved their lips together in a share of pure emotions, was a kaleidoscope.

Once there was a possibility that what they had was never going to be something for the world to see, for them to embrace fully, but now there were endless possibilities of where to go. They could be anything, do anything, and go anywhere. She was free from a marriage contract and he was free from the darkness. They found something improbable with each other; something that destiny might have not even foreseen. In one another, Draco and Hermione found what they had been looking for all their lives.

It was far-fetched for people like them, but Draco and Hermione had fallen in love despite all the odds against them.

Pulling away from his addicting kiss, Hermione rested her forehead against his. She took a moment to catch her breath, to fill her lungs with oxygen before she decided to go in once more to devour his lips. As she did, she muttered, "I love you too, Draco."

Malfoy pecked her mouth in a gentle motion for saying it. "I've got perfect eyesight and all my limbs, this is a good ending."

Rolling her eyes briefly, Hermione smirked and responded with, "I wouldn't be so sure. Blaise released the dogs."

At a distance from where their spot on the grass was in the Zabini's west-end side of the garden, Blaise glared with an offended manner. He had the leashes of his four massive dogs in hand, the dogs not included as they charged towards their target. "Quit snogging my sister and go home!"

Most stories don't have an insanely jealous and overprotective brother, but theirs did. Malfoy would give anything so that Blaise simply stopped existing, but he reckoned Hermione needed her brother. Hermione would give anything for some peace among the people in her life, but there was still a long way to go before she gave up hope on that.

This was not the ending, just the beginning of another chapter.

* * *

**AN: AND THAT WAS THE END PEOPLE!  
**

***Claps* Well, done! :D**

**Anyway, sorry it took absolutely AGES for me to put this up. But I hope you liked where it all ended. And just so you know, I WILL be posting an epilogue chapter. You all deserve it for being such incredible readers. Love you all! (:**


	26. Through the Years

**Lover of the Light**

**Epilogue: **Through the Years**  
**

At twenty-three years of age, Blaise thought he would have a life that everyone would envy.

He had hatched a plan when he was young, a guideline of sorts that would schedule and map when and how things were going to occur. He was going to graduate Hogwarts at seventeen, attend university and specialize in business—as it was planned since birth—and travel as much as he could during the holidays. At twenty-one, he was to have his degree and enter Zabini Enterprises to start working under his father's supervision meanwhile handling affairs of his own for the company. If he felt like it at that point, he'd dabble in other sections of the business his family owned, like trading or international affairs. Heading to his twenty-second birthday, Blaise would leave behind his life as a bachelor and fall for a respectable, beautiful, intelligent witch—blood status no longer important due to his radical change and the liberal times—and propose to her by the end of that year. By twenty-three, he was to be married, have a high-position in the company by his sole effort, have done something extraordinary to solidify himself as a brilliant businessman in the corporate world, and begin a foundation for future, independent companies of his own.

That'd been the plan since he was seven. By then, everyone knew perfectly well that Blaise Zabini got everything he wanted at the time and condition that he wanted them. That was just the way things worked. Except, of course, he wasn't counting on Luna Lovegood to suddenly put herself in his life at the end of Hogwarts, but she did. _Lovegood fucking did_.

He had been against falling for her—as it should've been obvious to anyone who wasn't fucking blind. He didn't date girls like her. Alas, fixing his relationship with his long-lost sister brought upon unwanted consequences: a pack of annoying, goody-goody, untamable people. Her friends, as Hermione had practically shoved down his throat, were not going anywhere if she was to be a Zabini. From there on out, Blaise was to deal with those tossers without complaint. And that's where the Lovegood problem had begun.

It didn't take long, _surprisingly_, for him to find the Ravenclaw enthralling. Normally, he did not care for the girls in his school, but that was just the thing, wasn't it? Lovegood wasn't normal. She was always smiling, glittering, glowing, talking nonsense, yet being absolutely brilliant...The wench. He never stood a chance! Embarrassingly, really, but he started fancying her the more he noticed her, the more he heard her talk and make no sense whatsoever. Her delicate voice was just so bloody fascinating.

The first time they snogged was when they were alone in a classroom. It'd been a difficult time for him then, a night when he roamed the castle barely there; worrying and dying inside because of his sister's kidnap. She found him in that classroom and sat down next to him. He hadn't heard her come in, didn't even know it was her until he smelled the vanilla off her blonde locks. It had comforted him, especially when she put an arm around his shoulder and pulled him tightly to her. She hummed for a bit and the melody of it made him _feel _the affection and care he always saw his father give to his stepmother. He felt that for Lovegood, that endearment, that love that he believed to be a mythical thing. Driven by it, he kissed her. It was by far the sweetest, most tender kiss he had ever experienced...

From the kiss onward, he spent all his time with her. If he had been the old Blaise, he would've been inclined to never speak to her again, as he did to most girls he snogged, but he could've never managed that with her. He couldn't have managed to stay away from her because she made him feel _hopeful_. She made him feel good things, and because of that, he claimed ownership on her.

Of course, Lovegood didn't work the way he did and she continued behaving like she wasn't claimed. She spent too much time with Neville fucking Longbottom, Dean fucking Thomas, Harry fucking Potter, and some other random fucking Ravenclaws. It wasn't until the graduation celebration at his house that he found out that she wanted to be asked properly to be his girlfriend. The next day, he asked properly and the official relationship began.

He was eighteen and she was seventeen when she decided to go to university in Ireland while he planned to alternate between London and America. He had thrown a tantrum over it—what the hell was in Ireland, anyway?—but she had promised that they would see each other frequently. Despite the busy schedules and miles of travel, they did manage to see each other quite often. That is, until she began to travel to Central America.

The holidays they should have been spending together were cut short on various occasions so she could go to Brazil for fieldwork and experience. He hated that she was stealing his time with her, but Hermione had scolded him and tried to make him see that it was Lovegood's career on the line. Grudgingly, Blaise held his tongue and anger about the situation. After all, Lovegood had promised that it wouldn't be forever and that she'd make up for the time lost.

He was twenty-two and she twenty-one when he decided to ask her to move in with him. At that point in their lives, she was working for an important laboratory that was one of the top potion-making companies in all of Britain and he was handling important, international clients for Zabini Enterprises. For being so young, both were fast on the road of success. Blaise knew they were stable enough so he asked her to share a very posh flat in London with him. As it was accustomed in their relationship, she refused the luxury. She wanted to move in with him, definitely, but she suggested a comfortable cottage somewhere by the countryside. He argued about it for almost a week, but when she convinced him to go see a 'lovely' cottage by South West London, he saw how happy she was and he couldn't refuse her. To compromise, he said no to the cottage she'd chosen, but suggested a bigger one just a mile away from hers. She had smiled, kissed him gently, and agreed. A week later, they were moving everything in. They even had a warm house party—or whatever Hermione called it—with their friends to celebrate the move.

Beginning his twenty-third year of life, Blaise was certain that his life was practically perfect. The only matter that impeded complete perfection was the fact that he wasn't keeping up with his schedule. At that age, he should've already accomplished another goal, _marriage_. Commitment didn't frighten him; he knew from a young age that he was to get married so that he could raise a family to carry on the Zabini legacy. The only thing in the way of that was bloody Lovegood. She had started to travel again. Weeks turned to months and he found himself without her presence more than he'd liked. Their cottage was cold and unbearable without her glow.

After her return from the coasts of Japan, where she'd been for a month and a half, he proposed. He should've seen the signs that something was off by the blank blue of her eyes, the forced smile, and the recoil she did every time he tried to touch her. After he asked, down on one knee and the velvet box exposing the ring extended to her, she began to cry. She closed the box, pushed it back to him, and went outside.

Two weeks after that and he concluded that she wasn't coming back.

He destroyed everything inside the cottage and left it. He got his posh flat in London and focused on work. Hermione hounded him for information, begged him to talk to her, but he gave her nothing. He isolated himself; it was his way of grieving. Malfoy was the only one who understood that, he had seen him do so after the passing of his mother. He took care of Hermione for him; Blaise never said it, but he appreciated it. The last thing he needed was a fallout with his over-caring sister.

He worked all day and drank all night. That was his life at the beginning stages of his twenty-three years of life. Cheers to Luna fucking Lovegood; she ruined his life.

He absolutely despised her, that was more than evident by his raging anger. What was more evident, however, was how much he fucking loved her. He loved her so damn much that it, mixed with her absence, tortured him every second of every day. It was a pain that started bearable when she left for her trips, but it'd gone to absolutely inhumane now that she was _gone for good_. He vowed drunkenly one night to his father, who had appeared for an unwelcome and unexpected visit, that she was dead to him. Never again would Lovegood see him, he swore it.

Three months after her departure, Hermione had informed him of someone who was interested in buying the cottage. He wanted nothing to do with it so he asked his sister to handle the affair, and she agreed so sadly. One morning, though, she Floo Called and told him that a buyer wanted to meet with him personally. There'd been no way out of it.

A week later, he took three shots of Firewhiskey and headed for the cottage.

When he walked in he saw the place clean and in a perfect state. It was obviously Hermione's doing, but he could still see the anguish and hate he left behind on the walls that she must've missed. Her cleaning spells must've not seen the warm memories that echoed off every corner, either.

He walked into the small sitting room of the cottage expecting to find a stranger ready to make a deal. Instead, he found his demon.

She was sitting on her favorite armchair, a warm, fuzzy blanket that she knitted herself on her lap. There was a dim smile playing on her mouth, blue eyes bright and big, and there was a glow to her that she didn't have last time he saw her.

"Hello."

He was frozen in his place and he was glad that he had been so. Something was happening to his insides; they were burning, hurting, dying, and waking up at the same time. It was agony. _She _was agony.

"Mister De Vita left just ten minutes ago. He was quite upset, but I told him we are not selling the cottage."

It hurt him. It hurt so fucking much. Her voice once had been music, now it was unbearable screeching inside his sensitive eardrums.

"He's a retired potioneer, you know? I invited him for tea next week so he can tell me about his work. He seemed quite inclined to accept that invitation. I think he might bring his wife and their granddaughter."

He couldn't take her voice. He wanted to pull off his ears so her sound would stop brutally murdering every cell inside his body.

"You need to leave," he managed to say. He felt like he gagged the words out, like bile was on its way up. Maybe it was the effects of the three shots of alcohol he took, or maybe it was that he couldn't handle what was right in front of him. "I'm selling this cottage."

The blonde woman carefully placed her palms on her covered lap. "You're not selling, Blaise."

"You have no fucking say in that!" he shouted at her, at her audacity to speak his name so gently and adoring.

She remained calm. "It's our home. We bought it together."

"There is no fucking 'we' in this! This rubbish place stopped being yours when you walked out on me! I'm selling it, so get the fuck off my property!"

She inhaled a shaky breath, but her exterior was in perfect composure. "Blaise—"

"_You walked out on me!_" he screamed.

How could she sit there and look at him like she'd done nothing terrible? How could she sit there and pretend like she didn't butcher him? She drove him back into the cold, hating abyss he had climbed out of to see the sun and the new world. Now she was sitting there calmly, reminding him of the times when they both sat together in their sitting room to read silently or talk about absolutely anything they wanted to.

"I fucking loved you, Lovegood, and you left without a single word! If you didn't want this relationship, you could've said so from the start!" He kicked a leg of the center, crystal table that held picture frames of her travels and of them on holiday. He knocked down the frames, one shattering onto the floor.

Luna blinked towards the fallen picture and stared at it sadly.

"I knew I shouldn't have gotten involved with you! I knew I was making a mistake, and now I wish I would've never met you, you demented bint!"

She looked back at him. His dark cheeks were undertone with red. His emerald eyes were leaking tears, leaving wet trails on his cheeks. His hands were shaking and his chest was heaving with force. He had unloaded the hate and misery he had carried with him for the three months that she'd been missing.

"The first few days when I was in Japan, I was contaminated with a muggle disease," she spoke with her whimsical, calm tone. "A cold, they called it. Muggle diseases aren't effective for people with our specific immune systems, but somehow I still got sick. I had fever, a terrible cough, and quite the horrible case of vomiting and nausea. I drank several potions, hoping that it would get rid of the sickness, but it didn't. Almost a month into the Japan project and I was not getting better. My co-worker was worried and a Healer was sent to our camp to help me."

She paused for a moment to inspect Blaise. He was still shaking from all the anger he had released, but his emerald eyes looked curious despite it all. She hoped he remembered how sick she looked when she came back from Japan.

"A witch or wizard is only vulnerable to muggle diseases when that person's immune system is not as strong as it should be. I was slightly sick when I left for Japan, Blaise. The Healer ran his tests and figured out the reason why the cold got me."

If he was waiting to hear the answer, he didn't get it.

"I went back to work," Luna continued, "and I started thinking about everything my life was then. I have accomplished most of my goals at twenty-two, haven't I? I became one of the youngest and highly praised naturalists to travel around the world. I discovered new plants, new species of animals...I didn't want to give that up. I was doing amazing things, but you were expecting me to return. I was only go so far because you were holding me back."

His anger was still there, but somehow his misery had multiplied and took over. Her words kept torturing him. His heart dropped from its place and joined him in the dark hole of misery he'd been living in for weeks now.

"Good thing you solved your problem, then," he said through his teeth. "Go on back, Lovegood. You're free now."

"I always loved you; that was true," Luna went on like she hadn't heard him. "Love is natural, but it's so complex to me. Love has rules, doesn't it? And there are various forms of love, isn't there? I love my father; that's permanent and simple. The rule there is that family is the most important thing and that no matter who I am or where I go, our love for one another shall never fade. I love my friends; that's freeing and effortless. The rule for loving my friends is that no matter the distance I go, no matter the time that passes, we are always going to be there for one another. They don't need me beside them every day, they've got their own lives to live. I love you; that's alternating and complicated. The rule for you is that there are compromises to settle on, differences to embrace, and that you need me beside you at all times..."

She took a deep breath and Blaise noticed the shakiness of her fingers over her lap. "I arrived to Japan pregnant, Blaise. When...When I found out, I felt like everything I worked for slipped right through my fingers. I wanted adventure and endless knowledge. I knew I was going to have to give that up. When I came back you asked me to marry you and I couldn't cope with that.

"I left because I needed time to think, Blaise. It never meant that I didn't love you. I just needed to figure out how much. Do you know what I realized? That love has no rules. Loving _you_, especially, has no rules. All that time traveling for work, being on my own for so long, I never wanted to admit that at night, when the exploring stopped, I missed you so much. Sleeping beside you has always been the only way I get a nice rest. I am only truly happy when you're holding my hand, when you kiss me, when you love me, when we're cooking meals together, when I'm around you. I never wanted to admit just how intensely I love you and I'm sorry for that, Blaise. I'm sorry I never showed you how much I need you, too."

Blaise had fallen to his knees. His eyes were wide, horror and confusion the prime emotions reflecting off of them. He gaped back at the blonde woman, lips parted, but nothing was coming out.

Luna stood from her favorite armchair and placed her blanket over it. For her small frame, for her petite and slim size, the thin material of her summer dress couldn't hide the forming stomach.

She walked over to Blaise. "I don't want to spend my life without you."

He gulped down a ball of emotions as his eyes found her small belly. If his math was correct, she was beginning her fourth month of her pregnancy. With some courage—with _a lot _of courage, actually—he reached a hand and placed it over her belly. He felt a surge from the being growing inside the blonde. It was magical.

It was healing, too.

"You are completely unorthodox for me, Luna. You made a mockery out of my schedule." With the same courage that it took him to touch her pregnant stomach, he placed his lips over it and gave it a gentle kiss. He looked up at the woman. "I wasn't suppose to have children at twenty-three."

"Yes, I know. Your firstborn was suppose to make an appearance when you turned twenty-five."

He frowned at her. "Have you been rummaging through my things?"

"You could've been a Ravenclaw, you know? You are orderly, punctual, intelligent, and determined."

"Oi, don't tell me that," he snapped at her. "And don't you get any ideas, either. This child is going to be in Slytherin."

"Statistically speaking, the odds of—"

"Luna, shut up." Blaise rose back up to his feet. "We still have a pressing matter to solve."

"Which is?"

"The fact that I completely despise you."

"Do you?"

"Well, yeah."

"Really?"

"Quite, yeah. Well...definitely less than at the start of this."

"Did the kicking and yelling help?"

"Somewhat. If I would've broken the table I think I would've been completely subdued."

"It's a nice table. Allegra gave it to us; it would've been a shame."

"Oh. Right."

"I understand that you hate me, Blaise. I wish you wouldn't, though."

"Yeah, well, it's your fault."

"True."

He sighed and nodded, feeling somewhat odd now. There was less pain. It was almost as if all that agony had been a nightmare.

"Are you still selling our cottage, then?"

"You sent our buyer away, remember?"

"It's a lovely cottage, there will be other offers."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Well, they can piss off. This is our cottage."

She raised a blonde brow at him. "I thought you wanted to sell?"

"I never said that."

"You did."

"Did not."

"So, we're keeping the cottage?"

"No, I'm selling it. This is no place for a baby to be raised."

"This is a beautiful place for a baby to grow up, Blaise. There's fresh air, vast space to play, nature to explore—"

"And an ocean he could fall into just around the corner," he added. "We need a place in the city."

"Cities are so noisy."

"The countryside is lonely."

"I hear there's a villa for sell by Bristol. It's populated, but the gardens there are supposed to be quite lovely."

"Deal."

The smile now on her face was contradicting to the next question she asked. "Do you still hate me?"

"No. I fucking love you, actually."

And he kissed her. He kissed her because she was so incredibly breathtaking and so imperfect.

All their time together, Blaise thought that Luna was paradoxically perfect. She was as intelligent as a Ravenclaw and as ridiculously brave as a Gryffindor. He thought that it was that courage that led her to a career that called for exploring unknown regions, coming across unsuspecting creatures and venomous plants. To him, there was nothing that could possibly scare her. But there was; _he _scared her. Their love terrified her.

There was still an amount of scars that were going to need time to fully mend. There was a part of him, he knew, that did not forgive her. Her departure truly did butcher him. He was lost and broken. He wasn't going to forget how painful it all had been, but he was going to work on it. He was going to work on it because she was terrified of their love.

That was a good sign, isn't it? It was sign that she was human, too. It was sign that she wasn't as perfect as he made her out to be; she was just as messed up as he was. Though he claimed if he were a bit more sane that he wouldn't have gone for her, he knew that if she was sane at all she would've never gone for a bloke like him. Blaise had too much darkness in him that could shadow her. He was selfish, stubborn, arrogant, and prideful. He had always been afraid to love her because she was much better than her ever could be.

The best type of love was the one that was so powerful, so consuming, so fiery that it shook anyone down to their core. A love that is intense is terrifying, but when it's true, that love is whole and healing.

And that's exactly what he knew they had. They just needed to work on being on the same track now.

**X**

At eighteen years of age Hermione Granger stopped existing.

Weeks after Abri Vivaldi was securely imprisoned for the rest of her days and Regina Nott had legally disbanded the marriage contract that tied Hermione to her son Theodore, Hermione decided to take control of her life once more. For a long time she let the unexpected situation take over, making her bitterly childish—though very justified—and sometimes cruel to the people that loved her. The Zabinis had been nothing but caring and warm in the ordeal. Now that time passed and Hermione saw things differently, she realized that she owed them something. And repaying them for such true love started with her taking the reigns of her life back.

They were having an intimate dinner one summer night when she decided to gift them with something that was long overdue.

"I had an appointment with the head of the Magical Office of Law this morning," she said to them casually as she lowered her glass of wine onto the table after taking a small sip.

Mister and Mrs. Zabini kept on chewing silently, their gaze resting on their daughter as they waited for her to continue. Blaise, however, hurriedly swallowed his food to be the first to interrupt her.

"They offer you a position to be an Auror and you head straight to the _law _department? Typical Hermione behavior. Do you really need to go off and fight for human rights instead of bad blokes?"

Allegra frowned at her stepson. "She will not be joining the Auror Department, Blaise. We've discussed this before, it's too dangerous."

Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes at her mother and brother.

As official Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt had all the power in the British Wizardying World to do whatever he pleased. Being the honest and respectable man that he is, Kingsley never used such power for anything that could be considered favorable for him. That is, until the day he rounded up the Golden Trio and offered them a shiny ticket into the Auror Department. Being the Chosen One, the hero of heroes, Harry was the first to jump onboard and accept wholeheartedly. On the other hand, Ron and Hermione told Kingsley they needed to think it through. Ron had never particularly thought about what he was going to do with his life, considering that there'd never been a guarantee that he was going to survive being Harry Potter's sidekick, but now that Hogwarts was over with, the decision was weighing down on him. As for Hermione, her conflict was simple: she wanted to do good in the world, but did that have to require chasing after criminals?

When Hermione spoke with her parents about it neither of them gave any indication of what they really thought about the Minister's offer. They'd always been talented in hiding their emotions, Allegra and Deon. So when she finally decided to decline the offer, Allegra broke out into a massive, glittering smile and Deon hugged her tightly, kissed her forehead, and announced that they'd be going to France for dinner that night. Meanwhile, Blaise confessed that he would have trained to be an Auror if it hadn't been for the years of business lessons he'd been given by his mother when he was younger. Deon was the type of father that would encourage his son to pursue what he wanted, but Hermione supposed that after having one of his children in constant danger he just wanted them to always be safe; he instead told Blaise he'd be proud of the day he became a respectable businessman.

"I am not becoming an Auror, Blaise. Sorry to disappoint you," Hermione finally responded.

Blaise frowned, a glint of jealousy in his green eyes. "University, then? With _Malfoy_?"

"I am still going to be in Britain, Blaise. I'm going to see you all the time."

"Yeah, but you are going to a _muggle _university," her brother huffed with disdain, "and to a Healer institute at the same time. Where is our shared university experience? _Where?_"

"It is not like you will be entirely alone," Hermione added impatiently. "Although he's taking a few classes with me in the muggle world, Malfoy will still be going to university with you to study business. He too has that rubbish sense of duty to take over his family's company. He'll be working to be a good head for Malfoy Corporations—even though he would've made a brilliant Potioneer."

At her side remark, Blaise grinned darkly. "Old Lucius almost croaked when Malfoy said he was taking a course on muggle international relations. I don't think he quite likes you now, Hermione."

Though she narrowed her brown eyes dangerously at her brother, Hermione decided to ignore Blaise's comment. It was not like she had been the one to tell Malfoy to go to a muggle university, he'd been the one with the idea. He said it would prove to be a good business move in the future when he could integrate muggle businesses to enhance his retail. (Or something.) Hermione agreed, of course. She'd been proud and very, very surprised at his choice, but also selfishly happy. Malfoy didn't say it directly, but she knew he made the choice so he could spend more time with her. After all, he'd been upset for days after she told him that she wasn't going to the same university as him.

"I changed my name," the brunette spoke once more. Her parents looked confused and she smiled at them. "You have accepted the fact that I am never going to look as I am meant to. Removing the Glamour Charm permanently would've been devastating for me, I confess, but I know that my decision to keep my false appearance took something from you, too."

"Hermione—"

"Whether you want to admit it or not," Hermione cut across Deon. She kept her smile. "If I can't have your eyes, Dad, I can at least legally, on paper, be yours. I entered the Magical Office of Law department as Hermione Jean Granger, but I left as Hermione Sienna Zabini."

Deon was momentarily void of any sort of expression, but his wife was expressing it all. Her honey-colored eyes were sparkling with tears, an overwhelmed look underlining those tears, and a shaky hand resting over her heart.

"You...You kept Sienna's name?"

Hermione nodded. "I know how much you loved your sister, Mum. You gave Aria that second name as tribute to her. It's important for you, so it's important to me."

Sitting beside her, Blaise reached for hand and squeezed it.

Clearing his throat, Deon called for attention. His glass of wine was raised as he looked adoringly, protectively, completely at his family. "To the Zabinis," he toasted.

It took eighteen years, but their family was finally complete...

When Hermione was twenty, after two years of dating, she and Draco ended their relationship.

For most of the two years the relationship was close to perfect. Hermione learned so much about Draco than she could have ever imagined. She learned the little things most people would overlook; like how he claimed to be very selective about the food he ate, yet he always sampled anything she made or bought. He was obsessive with his appearance; he shaved every day, had a haircut every three weeks, and his clothing was never wrinkled. He had a fascination with books that he kept hidden, he especially had a taste for Jane Austen novels that surprised her greatly. When he was moody, for example, chocolate seemed to calm him quicker than a glass of alcohol. Unbeknownst to her, he was capable of loving animals. To be specific, he adored the brown terrier he gave her their first Christmas as a couple. He preferred to sleep on the right side and with his hand clutching his wand; a way of sleeping he developed during the war. He would never admit it, but he hated the dark. When it rained he grew sad. She was the only one that could make him truly smile. His relationship with his parents was far better than its ever been, but a part of him would still tense and glare at his father from time to time. He murmured in his sleep and, more times than not, it was Hermione's name that slipped. He had a fascination with Paris and always took her to a tiny, lit-up restaurant when he felt especially romantic. He tended to squeeze her fingers tightly through a crowd, like he was afraid to lose her. When they fought he was always the one to leave, but always the first one to return...

The list of facts that she knew about him could go on for ages. She memorized Draco Malfoy like he was the most precious and unique artifact in the universe. She knew what rested inside his head, how his heart worked, how his soul was starting to glow, and down to every line that his body had. There was no greater work of art than him. He was exquisite and beautiful, but bitterly so.

"You are a fool, Hermione Zabini."

Annoyed, Hermione rose onto her toes to look over a rack of coats. "How exactly am I foolish? It was by far the only logical choice."

"Logical?" Theodore Nott scoffed as he grabbed a grey coat from the rack. "It was not logical, Hermione. It was _convenient_."

"Convenient?" huffed the brunette.

A ten year-old boy appeared in front of Theodore, arms extended and chin pointed up to the ceiling. "Convenient is something suited to your comfort or needs. An example would be: it was convenient for Hermione to breakup with Malfoy because she was afraid he was going to leave her first."

Theodore smirked and Hermione frowned. "Cheers, Ben."

"I don't like the chunky buttons on this, Theo," little Benjamin Nott said to his brother, pushing away the grey coat and ignoring the brunette's annoyance with him."Can I get a cloak instead? They are more practical than this."

Theo shook his head. "Sorry, Ben, but we're going to the muggle part of Alaska and the cloak would be too much."

Ben looked irate, but he said nothing to express his frustration as he walked to another part of the muggle department store. Hermione watched over him for a moment, making sure he wiggled his way safely past the herd of women bargain shopping.

"You hate to hear it, Hermione, but that's the truth. You left Malfoy because of your insecurities. It was ridiculous for you to assume that—"

"It was _not _ridiculous," hissed the twenty year-old witch to her friend. "Our fighting was getting out of hand, we couldn't even enjoy an evening together without bickering. The relationship was becoming unhealthy for both of us. I can't even imagine how bad it would've gotten if I moved in with him when he asked." She took a deep breath. "No, this was the best choice."

"Was it?" Theo eyed her carefully, a harsh glint to his black eyes as he approached her. His arms were crossed over his chest and he looked as if he was about to scold her like a father does to a child. "It's been three months, Hermione. How are you coping? How is _he _coping?"

Hermione swallowed a ball of emotions before answering. "I don't know," she muttered. "I..I haven't...I..."

"You let him walk away so many times, Hermione," whispered the young man to his friend, his hands now gently on her sides. "You let him leave, always counting that he was going to return, but you must've known that one day he would not. As much as he loves you, he was done letting you have your way. He is never going to come back for you."

The brunette bit her bottom lip to keep it from trembling, but her coffee-colored orbs betrayed her breakdown. They filled with tears, and they were met with no resistance. They fell and left evidence of her heartache on her cheeks. "I was scared," she confessed with a short shob. "I was hardly seeing him because of scheduling at the hospital. He was investing all the time I wasn't with him in his father's company, too. Time for us was scarce. And then...then _she _came along. She was taking him from me, Theo."

She stopped to cry and he sighed sadly. He pulled her into a tight hug, stroking her back softly. "She wanted him, that was clear, Hermione, but he didn't want her. From his part, they were strictly friends. And he needed someone, Hermione, but not once was he unloyal to you and you _know _that."

She did know that, but jealousy and hopelessness in a relationship was uncommon for Hermione. She tried working on it, but she was just beginning her internship in the hospital and the hours were insane and she was committed to it. She never moved in with him after he got a flat in London and asked because she knew she would hardly be there. She lived with her parents, slept at his place from time to time, but that was not enough. A girl came into his life, a partner that was assigned to him to handle affairs in America. She was pretty, smart, funny—Hermione couldn't handle the thought of losing Draco to her. So she pushed him away. She let him go and buried herself in her studies and in her work.

"You didn't hear it from me," Theo pulled away from the hug, his right thumb running underneath her right eye to wipe away the tears, "but he's just as miserable. Zack and I had dinner with him two nights ago and I swear I wanted to use the Killing Curse and put him out of his misery."

She cried a new set of tears.

"Go to him," said Theodore. "Find him and fix it. He came back too many times to you, Hermione. It's your turn."

At twenty-two years of age, Hermione and Draco became engaged.

Most men like to say that they plan proposing ahead of time; that they practice with a ring they carefully selected with the help of someone who knew them both very well and that could keep a secret. Those men would say that they carried the ring in their pocket and that everywhere they went they fiddled with it and contemplated on the perfect moment to pop the question. Those men would then create the perfect scenario: a romantic dinner that involved fine wine or sparkling champagne, exquisite dinner, delicious dessert, the right music, a bit of slow dancing, roses, stars and all.

It would be quite the story to tell for those men, wouldn't it?

The thing was, Hermione knew Draco was not like those men. Hell, Draco even knew that Draco was not like those men and that he'd never be; he loved her in his own way. So the story of how he proposed involved no careful planning, no music, no dancing, and nothing of the cliche sort. It was unexpected and a surprise to her as much as it was to him.

"That was brilliant."

"You say that all the time," replied Hermione with a small laugh as she cuddled into Draco's bare side.

He put an arm around her shoulders, reeling her deeper into him. It was a possessive. He had lost her before; it was months of darkness and isolation, a time in his life that he wished could disappear forever so that he would never have to remember them or count them as true. It left him with a fear—a fear of losing her. He had a fear of losing her since the beginning of their romance, but that came with dating the Brightest Witch of the Age and the enemies she'd made along the way. This was a new version of fear and made him even more possessive.

They got along as best as Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger could, loved as best as they could, but when they fought, they fought like Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger only could. Of course, he never once thought that they could ever end or that she would let him go, but she had and it scarred him. It _terrified _him. She was the best thing that has ever happened to him; losing her again was not an option. He made sure she knew that, too.

The night air blew in through the open window and past the taupe curtains of their bedroom, cooling the sweat that lightly glistened off their skin. With a shiver, Hermione pulled on the sheets to cover their naked bodies.

"I can't believe you are leaving tomorrow," she murmured as she traced the fingertip of her index finger over the skin of his abdomen. "I miss you already."

"Don't be so clingy, Hermione," responded Draco with malice that only he could produce. It was void of animosity, of course, but it still caused him amusement when she frowned at him.

She pinched him roughly and he winced.

"Bloody fuck! Don't do that."

She moved to look up at him with brown eyes that were narrowed threateningly. She loathed when he was a prat and he knew that. "I would be upset that you are leaving during my month off of work, but I am also very happy that you are accompanying Harry to Wales to visit Andromeda and Teddy."

"You are the one who is choosing to stay, remember? My Aunt Andromeda extended the invitation."

"It's my parents anniversary," chimed Hermione, "and I am treating them to dinner before they set off to Australia for their romantic getaway. It's tradition, Draco, you know that."

He rolled his eyes but he understood perfectly. "The Grangers are fortunate to have you to themselves for two days. If I knew early on that living in the muggle world was the best way to be uncommunicated and uninterrupted we would've originally moved there instead."

She pinched him again. "And Merlin only knows that Harry and the Weasleys are fortunate to have you to themselves for two days. You are going to have loads of fun, Malfoy. Pansy tells me that Harry and Ginny are just so pleasant to have around; especially since they are trying to conceive. It'll be nothing but love and—_Ow_!"

He pinched her to shut her up.

Just like she hated him being a complete tosser, Draco hated when Hermione was condescending. "As if I needed more reasons to dislike the Potters." He pinched her once more for fun. "Parkinson is one to talk, the annoying wench. She and Weasel remained two teenagers that just discovered the functions of sex and can't keep it in their trousers."

Hermione grimaced due to the mental image of her best friend and Parkinson always touching and canoodling with each other in the most inappropriate of times.

"Narcissa owled me today," she changed the subject quickly. "She wanted to confirm that we're having breakfast with her and your father tomorrow at Malfoy Manor."

The blonde rolled his silver eyes. "And you confirmed, no doubt."

"Of course! We have breakfast with the Zabinis and the Grangers often, it's only fair we have dates with your parents as well. Besides, Narcissa wants to show me her garden. She said the hawthorn tree she planted grew fifteen feet and sprouted berries since last week. You know how fond your mother is of her garden, Draco; I couldn't refuse. It makes her happy."

She placed several kisses on his ribcage. "Not to mention Mister Malfoy has been patiently waiting almost a month for us to debate over the new law Kingsley just passed. A spot of breakfast and some time with your parents before we are off in the afternoon won't kill us."

With his right hand, Draco cupped the side of Hermione's face. His silver eyes zeroed in and gazed with burning emotion into her brown ones. He roamed them, looked into their window and saw her soul. It was beautiful, just as she was. Behind that brown and those flecks of gold rested the soul that made her everything precious and pure that he loved with all his might.

His heart started beating out of control. Whenever their eyes met it always brought him a sense of comfort, of peace, yet, at the moment, he felt like a shot of adrenaline and desperation penetrated through his pores and into his veins; making his blood run at the same rhythm his heart was pounding away.

For most of his life he never believed in love. The concept was mythical; it was something that he heard existed but never felt or ever saw. He didn't know how it tied people, how it made everything better. He knew respect and duty; that's what ran him. But Hermione Granger challenged all that by taking him to a universe where only love existed. She made him a believer. She made him want what he had only read in books.

Maybe it was because she had a heart of gold, because she was attentive to his family despite everything she had suffered at their hands, proving that there were no limits to her kindness and absolutely perfect soul; or maybe it was due to the high that lingered after their lovemaking that made the next words leave his lips.

"Marry me, Hermione."

Her heart stopped.

Hermione pulled away from him and she pushed herself up to sit on the back of her legs, the sheet wrapped tightly around her. Her eyes were wide; so many emotions flickered through them like someone hastily flipping through the pages of a book.

Draco couldn't catch any indication of what she was feeling. He didn't even know how she should be feeling or what he was feeling at the moment, either. The words spilled out, yes, but he meant them. He had always meant them; ever since the day he realized that he loved her, if he was honest. Those words had just been on reserve for a time when they were much older.

He was about to retract his words, so full of pride that he didn't want to give her a chance to reject him, but then she said, "yes."

"Yes?" He gaped.

Tears sparkled over her gaze and she nodded. "Yes, I'll marry you."

His heart never got the chance to settle down from its frantic dance because she threw herself at him, arms wrapped tightly around his neck when she started kissing him like it was the last day of their lives...

Hermione was twenty-seven when her life changed forever.

Ever since Hermione Zabini became Hermione Malfoy—which occurred when she was twenty-three years of age in a very intimate and beautiful ceremony that was held in the gardens of the Zabini Estate; all her family and close friends present—life had been a breeze. She continued working as a Healer in 's and soon became Head of her department, not to mention that she continued advocating for the rights of all humans and creatures alike and ran a lot of charity events with the support of Allegra, Narcissa, and even her grandmother Zabini. Aside from her career shining bright, her personal life was absolute heaven. Although Hermione and Draco could get into intense arguments, their marriage felt like the first time they kissed—it was all-consuming and brilliant. They had fiery personalities, but all that passion mixed under one roof was mainly used to love one another. And, oh, how they loved one another. Their time together assured Hermione that Draco was her soul mate; that they were going to be together until death did them part.

It was not just her life that was moving by like a smooth current, it was everyone else's, too. Their happiness and well-being added to hers.

Harry and Ginny tied the knot when he was twenty and she nineteen. They proceeded to live in Godric's Hollow in an adorable and quaint house, enjoying the fruits of their labor as an Auror and a Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies. They'd been married for a few years, trying to conceive for the longest, but it wasn't until Ginny was twenty-five when their efforts finally paid off. Aside from occasionally taking care of Teddy Lupin—who they considered a son—James Sirius Potter was their first born. Because her husband was an Auror, Ginny always worried whether or not Harry would make it to another day. Fate was kind to her, however. He always came back to her, though at times a little battered and bruised. Besides those moments of concern, their relationship was still easy as air and they loved each other simply. Their happiness was each other, and raising that little boy that was taking up the characteristics of the original Marauders.

At twenty-seven, Ron and Pansy were the only ones that remained unwed. Raised as he was, Ron proposed time and time again to his longtime girlfriend but the witch never gave in. When they were twenty-four they broke up for eleven months when Ron grew tired of Pansy never accepting the ring he held out to her. They dated other people during their time apart, but the love they had for one another was too strong to keep them apart. For the first time in a long time, all of Pansy's friends watched her be human and sincere when she asked with tears in her eyes for one more chance. Before Ron could grant her that, he demanded to know why she didn't want to marry him; and so Pansy confessed the trauma her parents' marriage left on her. Everyone knew she loved Ron, more than herself, but she just needed to be absolutely ready. Now, they live together close to the Burrow upon Pansy's suggestion—she grew very attached to Mrs. Weasley, seeing in her a mother figure that she always lacked in her life—and they traveled the world together quite frequently. Ron partnered up with George and became an investor for his shop and its branches that opened across the globe, meanwhile Pansy put to use all those years surrounded by refined people and became an interior designer for the _crème de la crème_ of Europe. Though they lived a thrilling life, Ron was still hoping to formally settle down and Pansy was closer every day in giving him that.

At his current time, Theodore Nott never looked happier. In his twenty-seven years of life the graduated Slytherin managed to uplift the reputation his surname had in the business world and build himself an impressing corporation. During and after his studies, Theodore worked in Zabini Enterprises as a trader, earning respect and freedom from his superiors. It didn't take long for him to save enough galleons to start a trading business of his own—Deon Zabini a top investor—and establish a decent fortune for himself. When he was twenty-one he put his brother through Hogwarts—Ben was a Ravenclaw!—and was proud to see him finish his education as Head Boy. Benjamin was seventeen now, a sweetheart of a boy and incredibly intelligent, and was taking a gap year to travel and see ancient cities before heading to university to begin his road to became a Curse Breaker. With what they had, Theo and Ben made their family whole again; just two brothers who grew from a broken home and loved each other dearly. The only scar along Theo's path was Zacharias untimely death. At the age of twenty-two, Zacharias Smith was caught in the middle of a riot after people protested the potential release of a notorious criminal that had caused much despair during that time. Theo grieved for almost two years, but he eventually met another man and found the capacity to love again. He was happy, positive, and at peace.

As for the Zabinis, old wounds started to heal. Nine years after the revelation of Hermione Granger as the long-lost daughter of Allegra and Deon Zabini, Deon and his relatives started mending their relationship. It took some time, but they developed something that he didn't have as a child. He had dinner with them a night many years ago, and that was the only night that everything was revealed and they said what they needed to. Deon's older brother Stefano put away his grudge and embraced his brother for the first time in their lives. The matriarch of the family was beyond overjoyed to see her family come together again, and Mister Zabini allowed Deon to call the original Zabini Estate home once more. After forgiveness was granted from both parts, Deon's parents finally welcomed Allegra into their family. Soon enough—though Mister Zabini won't admit it—they found Allegra absolutely charming, cunning, and valuable.

"You're stupid!"

"Am not!"

"Are too!"

"Am not!"

"Stupid, stupid, stu—"

"Luca, watch your language," a deep voice reprimanded.

"But it's not a bad word! Papà told Mamma that it wasn't."

"Yes, but your father has always been a thickhead. You mustn't follow his example."

"_See_, Luca!"

With his tan, skinny arms crossed over his perfectly ironed navy polo shirt, a four year-old boy frowned at the people before him. His blue eyes reflected his irritation at being called out, but he didn't say anything about it as he lowered himself to sit beside the girl on the floor and across from the blonde man on an arm chair.

The little girl smiled with satisfaction as she turned her green eyes to the adult in the room.

Draco Malfoy stared back at them and shook his head. The two, Luca and Lumen Zabini, were the oddest twins he'd ever come across. He was well aware that they were just four, but they had developed their personalities fast and gave hint to what was to come. All they shared was the same tan skin, light brown curls, and facial characteristics that were evenly inherited from their parents.

With her deep emerald eyes that she inherited from the Zabini side, Lumen was a little know-it-all. She liked to be in control and always spoke as if she was right. Her vocabulary was extensive at a young age, she used it to learn as much as she could. She was terribly curious; something that she definitely got from the Lovegood side. Though she was dangerously curious about things, she was the well-behaved one. She listened and stayed in place. She was absolutely adorable, too.

With his wide and doe-like blue eyes that he inherited from the Lovegood side, Luca was a little troublemaker. It wasn't his intent to be one, everyone could see that, but he had gotten his father's Italian passion for things. He was too young to handle his interest in things and that ultimately ended up in things being broken, lost, or caught on fire. He was fairly intelligent as well, but he liked exploring and playing. He was also the sweetheart of the set. Whenever he sensed negativity, Luca went to battle against it and brought everyone a smile.

"Are you going to apologize to each other or not?" pressed Draco as he continued to survey the twins with a hard look.

Lumen appeared to be ready to argue about it but she saw her uncle's serious gaze and gave in. "I'm sorry, Luc," she sighed, hunching her shoulders and looking down at the plush carpet beneath them.

The little boy wanted to smirk back but he refrained himself. Instead, he did the honorable thing and put an arm over his sister's small shoulders. "S'okay, Lum."

Lumen looked up at her brother and they exchanged a smile. They were different, they loved competing with one another, but those twins loved each other as proper siblings should.

"Let the meeting continue, then," spoke Draco. "What have we planned for Allegra's birthday?"

"Daddy said that _Nonno _wanted to have her party in Italy," replied Lumen with complete focus now. "Daddy said that _Nonno _Deon bought _Nonna _Allegra a house there, but that we can't say anything because _Nonna _will cry."

Draco raised a blonde brow. "Why would Allegra cry?"

The twins shrugged.

"Okay, well, what is your dad getting her? I know he was looking through Hermione's office last week in hopes to find what she was getting Allegra. Your father is a dunce when it comes to buying gifts and he is getting desperate, that makes him dangerous. I need to know whether or not we might end up as human confetti during the party."

Luca looked momentarily confused. He thought his dad bought wicked gifts—he should know, he gave him a real tiger last month after Luca showed his first signs of magic!

"Mamma got Nonna a pretty, pretty, pretty necklace, Uncle Draco! But I dunno what Daddy got her. He didn't let us see it."

Draco tapped his left fingers on the armrest of his chair. "Twins, your mission is to find whatever it is he bought when you return home, understood?"

"Yes, Uncle—"

"_Draco_."

Hermione had been standing by the doorway of her parents sitting room, watching the interaction with a smile on her face and finally decided to make herself seen. Her nephew and niece beamed at her and her husband rolled his eyes at her.

"How long have you been standing there?" Draco questioned.

Hermione picked up Lumen, who had her arms stretched out and demanded attention, and stopped directly in front of the armchair. "Long enough to know that you are trying to sabotage Blaise's gift for my mother. Don't you think this prank is getting a bit old? It's been five years, for goodness sake."

"Revenge has no time limit, Hermione. Your idiot brother ruined an antique with his prank those five years ago."

"A chess board is hardly an antique, Draco."

"It is when Salazar Slytherin owned it, Hermione."

It was Hermione's turn to roll her eyes as she kissed her niece's forehead and placed her on her tiny feet. "How many times have I told you not to involve Lumen and Luca in your petty battles against Blaise? They're not tools for your revenge, Draco. They're children. You should be setting examples."

"But we love Uncle Draco, Aunt 'Mione," said the twins in unison when it appeared that their aunt was getting annoyed with her husband. "He's brilliant."

Malfoy smirked infamously. "You see? I'm absolutely brilliant."

His wife sighed. "Yes, I know they love you. Just behave yourself, will you?"

With a snort, Draco changed the subject when he asked, "why are you late? Your shift ended two hours ago."

Immediate silence surged.

Hermione cleared her throat, fiddling with her wedding ring as she glanced away from her husband's intense silver eyes. He was right, she was supposed to meet him at their place and Floo together to her parents' house for a Sunday dinner but something came up. And something always came up. This time, however, it wasn't a patient or some crisis in her department. It was her. _She _was the delay—better yet, her inner functions were the ones that were late. Two months late to be precise.

"Hermione," called Draco.

She took a deep breath and glanced up at him. Because he knew her, he had an expectant look on his face. He knew the difference when she was worried, saddened, angry, and when she had something to say.

"I was dealing with results of a medical exam I did on myself this morning." His expression didn't change; it was signal that she needed to continue. "I'm...I'm pregnant, Draco."

That expectant expression on his pale face turned into that mask of nothingness that he always sported when they were younger. She hadn't seen it in so many years that her heart started to beat with fright.

What if he didn't want children?

They talked about their life together, of course; loving each other until the end of days, but the subject of children never came up. He had planned their entire life side by side, she agreed on most of it, but expanding the family that only consisted of the two of them was never discussed. Not once had she thought that the reason for that was that he didn't want children, but she took his silence over the matter as a job of fate: if it happened it happened, if it didn't then it didn't. She thought that silence on the matter, letting fate decide, was a good thing considering that they worked hectic hours and only found time to be with one another.

Hermione watched as her husband rose from the armchair and towered over her. His frozen gaze, so void and metallic, transformed the moment his arms wrapped around her waist and his lips captured hers in a strong and thrilling kiss.

Tears splashed on her cheeks and they weren't hers.

Before she could pull away to see the wonder of Draco Malfoy crying tears of joy, someone else input the interruption.

"Oi!" Entering the sitting room, Blaise picked Lumen up and covered her eyes with his giant right hand. "You're supposed to be taking care of my children, not kissing like a teenage couple in front of them!"

Never far from Blaise, Luna appeared beside her husband and placed a calming hand on his shoulder. "Blaise, it was a kiss of celebration."

Blaise snorted, still holding his hand to Lumen's face as the little girl struggled to pull it off. "What is there to celebrate? She married him; her entire life was thrown away."

"Aunt Hermione is pregnant, Papà!" exclaimed Luca as he helped his sister free from their father's hold. "We're getting a cousin!"

Lumen squealed, Luna smiled bright, Luca danced, and Blaise took a step back.

"Father! Allegra!" He shouted as he turned back on his heels and ran out the door. "Cissy! Lucius! Hermione is pregnant!"

With an almighty glare, Draco pulled his wand out from his pocket. "I hate him."

Hermione just shook her head as her husband went after his brother-in-law to murder him. "I'm really hoping the baby gets everything from me. It doesn't need any Zabini or Malfoy genes," she said to Luna as she placed a loving hand on her belly...

At thirty-nine years of age, Hermione was finding that her life was loud, busy, tiring, frantic, mental,worrying—but that she wouldn't change it for anything in the world.

And today, like every other day, as the noise and chatter boomed, she counted her blessings and gave thanks. Though it left her with a headache at the end, her heart swelled when her house was full to the brim with her family and friends. Especially considering why they were together on this specific day. With a smile, she headed from the back garden to inside of her home; ruffling the hair of one of Harry's sons along her path.

"All I'm telling you lads is to combine the orange pack with the black one. The flames are far more intense, that's definite, but the sight is bloody brilliant. You won't regret it."

"I trust you, Uncle George, but the black pack is part of the deluxe version of the Demon Dun Crackers. Brilliant invention they are, mind you, but the mess they make...I can't handle the chaos. Especially not when Mum is 'round."

George Weasley raised a brow at his twelve year-old nephew. "You're scared of your mother, Al?"

"_Yes!_" exclaimed a boy with unruly black hair and tell-tale green eyes. "She's scary!"

George scoffed loudly.

"Oh, leave him, Uncle George," clipped another boy with unruly black hair; this one fourteen years-old and with brown eyes. "Little Albie can't handle any Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes products—aside from that Pygmy Puff you gave him for Christmas last year. He's a baby."

"I am not a baby!" fumed Albus Potter at his older brother. "And don't call me Albie!"

Bored of the conversation amongst the Weasley/Potter clan, Scorpius Malfoy put a hand on his best friend's shoulder. "James is only trying to get you in trouble, Al. You know if you light those firecrackers Ginny will kill you."

"Am I?" smirked James.

"Is he?" added Louis Weasley, son of Bill and Fleur and cousin to the two Potter boys. He was standing beside James, loyally as ever. And among the gang of fourteen year-old boys that thought they owned the world was Fred Weasley II, George's eldest child. The three grinned dangerously at Scorpius and Al.

James crossed his arms over his chest. "Albie can't handle a prank without wheezing about it, but can you, Malfoy?" He tossed him the two packs of fireworks. "How about you light them up and put on a show for everyone?"

Though he was just twelve years-old, Scorpius Malfoy was not a force to be reckoned with. He was intense, resolute, and un-intimidated. Al bought everything his brother and cousins said, always falling for their jokes and their teasing, but Scorpius was far from naive. He fought back just as much as James, Fred, and Louis.

Scorpius looked down at the wrapped pyrotechnics and contemplated. He rose his head high and his silver eyes scouted around the garden of his home. Not far from the business transaction Mister Weasley wanted to make was a group of girls in their summer dresses that were sipping pumpkin juice and giggling about something. He grinned.

"Oi! Lily!"

From the group of girls, a five year-old redhead looked up to the person that called for her. Following her line of sight was Rose, Ron and Pansy's twelve year-old daughter, Charlotte, Theo's adoptive eleven year-old, and Roxanne, George's twelve year-old.

"Catch!"

And little Lily Luna did as she was told.

Scorpius turned in an angle and spotted a group of adults. "Mrs. Potter, James gave Lily two packs of fireworks!"

Halting her conversation with Luna and Pansy, Ginny's eyes scanned for her only daughter. Within a second her eyes were ablaze and she turned that fury towards her oldest son. "James Sirius Potter!" she screeched.

James' eyes widened, Louis and Fred stepped away from him slowly and fled from the apparent danger, and Scorpius kept his infamous, heredity smirk.

"Mum, I-I...Mummy, I didn't—"

"How can you be so careless, James?!" belted the redheaded woman as she had made her way to him, grabbed him by his ear and tugged. "Lily is five, James! _Five! _How many times have I told you about playing with fireworks?! Your father is going to hear about this, come on!"

As a terrified and protesting James was led away by his mother, Scorpius turned to his best friend and clapped him hard on the back. "There you go, Al. Little Jamie is equally as scared of Ginny as you are."

Albus roared with laughter.

"Gotta hand it to you, lad," began George as he looked on with approval, taking a sip of the refreshing Piña Colada he was surprisingly fond of that Mrs. Granger had made for the party, "you're ruthless. Normally snitching on someone is considered the lowest of the low, but since Ginny is the mother in this, it's just bloody brilliant." He took another drink from his decorative pineapple. "Also, good looking out for my nephew. Warms my heart to know Albie is in good hands while at Hogwarts." Like Hermione had done, George ruffled his nephew's hair and turned on his heels.

"Don't call me Albie!" snapped Albus at his uncle's retreating figure. "I hate it when they—" The boy stopped his frustrated rant when two Malfoys exited the back door of their home and entered the garden. He paid no mind to the woman—his godmother whom he adored so much but at the current moment was completely irrelevant. His green eyes lingered on the freshly turned eleven year-old girl. She was absolutely beautiful. The rays of sunlight captured her glowing hair and golden eyes.

"Close your mouth, Potter, before you swallow a wasp or something." With one of those muggle pineapple drinks in hand, seventeen year-old Luca Zabini appeared on the scene with a bemused grin directed at the Potter boy.

Al cleared his throat and frowned. "I'm admiring the cake Hermione brought out."

"You were not," chuckled Luca. "What you were admiring is Lyra. Careful, little Albie, my cousin can't have a boyfriend until she's thirty. Uncle Draco's rules, you know."

Al's cheeks turned pink. "I don't want to be her boyfriend."

Luca sipped his drink before replying. "You say that now, but you know that when she heads to Hogwarts come September and is sorted into Gryffindor, you're going to spend all your time watching her, talking to her, and eventually you'll want to."

Scorpius rolled his eyes. "Lay off him, Luca."

"My cousin here is perfectly fine with you fancying his sister," continued Blaise's son. "You've got one fifth of a blessing; go for it, mate."

"One fifth?" questioned Albus.

"Scorpius might like you for a brother-in-law, Albie, but you still got to go through Uncle Draco, my dad, Grandad Deon, and Lucius."

Albus glanced quickly at Lyra Malfoy. She had joined the circle of girls and stood out from all of them. (His relatives didn't count!) Granted, Charlotte Nott was pretty and all, but Lyra was absolutely beautiful. They've been close since before they could walk; and just as he could call Scorpius his best friend, Al considered Lyra something pretty close to it. He was just twelve, but he knew something magnificent when he saw it. Lyra was exactly that.

"She might end up in Slytherin like you, or Ravenclaw like Lumen and I'll never see her."

Luca snorted. "If Scorpius ended up in Gryffindor what makes you think _Lyra _will be in Slytherin? That girl is a mini Aunt Hermione!" The teenage boy laughed. "Of course, there's also the matter that Lyra might not even fancy you back, Albie. She does spend a lot of time with that muggle boy she met in her piano lessons."

Al looked immediately worried.

Before Luca could further embarrass and amuse himself off Albus, a few yards away his Aunt Hermione called for attention. Scattered among the garden of the Malfoys home, the guests started grouping together and making their way towards a long table suited for the multitude. The dishes had been cleared and removed of the evidence that they had a massive feast for lunch; in their place now were sets of tea and pitchers of milk, platters of fruit, ice cream, and bowls of toppings also were on display and for public consumption.

On the north end of that long table sat a cake that was four levels high. Each layer was iced green to make the illusion of a plain field, and every layer was decorated with candies in shape of leaves, frosting swept upwards to appear as grass, twirled to appear as vines. To top it all off and make it an alluring cake was the giant, extremely detailed, icing in shape of bright yellow sunflowers scattered on the four layers of pastry.

Lyra was born early June, just a couple of days after her father's own birthday. Hermione said that though she was named after a constellation, she was vibrant like a summer's day. 'Bright like the faraway stars, but alive like the flowers,' Hermione would say about her daughter.

Scorpius wedged his way to the head of the table, standing beside his father who placed an arm around his shoulders. As the crowd started to sing for the birthday girl, Scorpius looked at his silent but beaming father and said, "I promise to take care of her when she starts Hogwarts in two months, Father."

Draco looked down at the boy who resembled him and all the generations of Malfoys before them. Though they had the same silver eyes, Draco saw so much of Hermione's spirit in them. That Malfoy metallic gaze was saved because of Hermione and fully alive and brilliant because of his son. He never said it, but he loved seeing the life and the evidence of love in them.

"You're a good brother, Scor," whispered Draco to his twelve year-old son. "I trust that you will."

Though he looked exactly like him, though it was said that Scorpius had a lot of his serious characteristics, Draco knew that his son was much better than he was, could, and will ever be.

"Al will be looking after her, too," added Scorpius with a smirk.

"Just as you look after his cousin Rose, right?"

Scorpius' smirk disappeared the same moment the singing amongst the crowd ended and it appeared tugging on his father's mouth. He frowned at him and turned, muttering under his breath about how unfunny his father was.

"—Me first! _Move!_ She's my niece!"

Shaking her head in disapproval as Blaise started shoving the people of the crowd who were lining themselves up to give Lyra a massive embrace, Hermione ended up being pushed to be beside her husband. "He's impossible."

"He has his own daughter, he needs to lay off mine."

"Jealous?" grinned Hermione as she blinked her brown eyes at Draco. He glared at her. "Oh, come on, Malfoy. Blaise is just going through a phase. Lumen is seventeen now, a woman, and she's busy with her boyfriend and starting a life. He just wants a little girl to spoil."

"Your brother needs a dog," snapped the blonde man. "Better yet, Lovegood should give him another kid so he can stop being possessive of everyone else's."

Hermione pinched her husband's arm. "You know perfectly well Luna can't have anymore children after her accident all those years ago. Don't be insensitive."

"They can adopt."

She pinched him again, this time more roughly. "_Git._"

He smacked her hand away. "I am jealous and possessive, okay? Lyra is _our _little girl."

"Not for long," reminded his wife. "Seems like yesterday when she was just a little thing. Now look at her, Draco. She's starting Hogwarts in a few weeks. Time was quick before, now we'll barely feel it pass."

Draco watched her turn to the crowd, her brown eyes focused on the two blonde children that belonged to them.

"Scorpius, too," she continued. "He's my baby boy, but he's growing into a man every day. I remember being pregnant with him, watching my belly develop, feeling him kick...He cried when I went to work, remember? He was so attached to me, my baby, that I ended up taking him to St. Mungo's with me. He said he was going to be just like mummy when he accompanied me around the hospital. He wanted to save lives."

"Now he wants to be a Seeker for Puddlemere United," grunted Draco. "I blame Potter."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Draco, you were the one that bought tickets for the Quidditch Cup last year and invited Harry to bring James and Al along. It's _your _fault."

Because of her comment Draco pinched his wife's left arm. "Quit being a Saint Potter fanatic." He pinched her once more, she raised her right hand to smack his chest, but he caught it and held on to it. "I've done good, right? Been a good father?"

"You've been a fantastic father and fantastic husband, Draco." He released her hands and now they crawled their way to wrap around his waist in a full and tight hold. She looked up at him and she knew he could see the love in her eyes because that grey in his melted into precious silver. "We have two beautiful children, an enormous family consisting of in-laws, adoptive relatives, and friends, and sixteen years of marriage. Life with you is amazing."

He placed a hand on the side of her face, his thumb tracing the outline of her jaw gently. "I'm happy, Hermione," he said for only her to hear. "You have given me everything I never thought I could have, everything I thought I didn't deserve...I love you with all my being."

"And I love you with all of mine," she murmured back before lifting herself with her toes to gather his lips into a kiss.

Just like all those years ago, back when they were teenagers themselves, the kiss held the same pure love and need from then. It traveled with them along their road together, always keeping them warm, connected, enthralled, and blissful. A sign that with just one kiss Hermione's knees grew weak and Draco's sky burst into fireworks...

Yards from the party, sitting underneath a hawthorn tree Narcissa Malfoy had given to her daughter-in-law years ago, Fate, Love, and Hope watched calmly from the shade. Hope was sampling a plate of cake she nicked from her old friend Theodore Nott.

"Well done, ladies," congratulated Fate. "You did an amazing job with this lot."

"It was challenging, but it worked itself out," replied Love as the wind blew through her hair and the summer day filled with an aroma of memories. "I'm proud of them."

Fate nodded, tears making her vibrant eyes glitter. "Many times I saw Tragedy coming for them, Pain and Misery persecuting them, that it was hard to remember that I knew how the story was going to to end. But they're beautiful, aren't they? These humans." She turned to her accomplices. "They dance a violent dance with Pain and Fear, but when Hope and Love come to cut in, you can see life in their eyes. They love beautifully after so much hurt."

Hope swallowed a piece of cake as she nodded. "Through the darkness there is always a light. It takes some people more effort than others to see those beams of hope, but there are always those who have light in their veins and become the guides for the blind."

Fate let Hope's comment be carried out with the summer breeze as she turned back to the scene ahead.

Draco and Hermione had ended their kiss as the party continued. Draco sat with Harry, Ron, Theo, and Lennox—Theo's long time boyfriend. Each had a glass of Firewhiskey and talked about the weekly Quidditch match they had. Hermione was serving tea to Allegra, Mrs. Granger, Narcissa, her Aunt Bianca, and her grandmother Zabini. The women congratulated her for such a lovely party and Hermione beamed.

Deon was with his brothers Stefano and Jenoah, chatting about the hotel in the Caribbean they wanted to open together. Their father Domenico listened on with a serious expression, but his dark eyes were at peace. Beside them, uninterested with the conversation the Zabini men were having was Lucius Malfoy and Mister Granger. Those two talked about politics in the muggle and magical worlds like old friends.

Ginny and Luna sat with Pansy, watching her shove a fourth piece of cake down. Ginny wanted to make fun of her, but she glanced down at her sister-in-law's swollen stomach and decided against it. Pansy was having twins, her hormones were doubly as unstable and she didn't want to be in the position of hexing a crazed pregnant lady.

Blaise was with Lumen and her boyfriend Jared. Lumen was beyond angry that her curls started to frizzle and her emerald eyes turned black. Her father paid no attention to the signs, instead Blaise continued to grill the nineteen year-old boy that was replacing him in his little girl's heart.

Not far from them all were the younger generation of that hectic family. They all sat in a circle, eating their cake and enjoying the summer day. They talked about nothing, yet everything. James wanted to plot a Hogwarts take-over now that more of their clan were starting school, and Rose asked Charlotte, Al, and Lyra what House they wanted to be sorted in.

"I know that look," spoke Hope, bringing Fate back into the focus and away from the party ahead. "You have something up your sleeve."

Fate grinned. "Don't I always?"

"You need a holiday."

"I'm Fate, there is never a holiday for me. Even now, sitting under this tree, I have started a million stories all over the world."

Love laughed as Hope rolled her eyes at Fate. "I'm excited to start."

"You stay away from this lot," commanded Fate to Love. "And I mean it literally. Remain far from them, they won't need you fully until a few more years. Confusion and Jealousy are up first with them."

"_Fine_." Love laid her back down on the grass and closed her eyes. "But I am starting with Rose Weasley and Scorpius Malfoy. I'm going to hit them hard."

"That's part of the plan." Fate followed Love's actions and laid down, too. She closed her eyes and let the breeze kiss her skin and her ears hear the melody composed by nature.

For now, everything is where it should be.

* * *

**The End.**


End file.
